Notes at the end this time - I don't want to leave any spoilers! Hope you enjoy it.

December arrived suddenly, as though Astoria wasn't expecting it.

Since her careless words, she'd barely spoken to Draco - not in person, nor through their shared parchment. It wasn't that she was avoiding him… exactly. She'd just given them a bit of space and time. Time to let the words stop repeating over and over in her mind. It wasn't like they weren't true, right? And Draco had definitely said his own share of cruel things. Yet her justifications didn't stop the gut-writhing sense of guilt she felt.

Of course there was also the fact that, for the first time since she'd been a student at Hogwarts, she was busy. Full-day-then-tiredly-falling-into-bed-at-night busy. Her work alongside Mr. Dwerryhouse consumed her hours; the Gala was mere days away. It was going to be splendid - they were turning the Hospital's tea room into an icy wonderland, with icicles hanging like crystal stalactites and bewitched breezes of glittering snowflakes swirling overhead. She'd never imagined she'd enjoy the stresses and mental maths that came with seating arrangements or catering details, but it was in fact a tidily efficient way of taking her mind off all her other troubles.

Christmas had come to the Greengrass Estate as well. Like every year, the Greengrasses had awoken to a transformed home on December first. Fletcher had worked through the night to festoon the place with arrangements of sugared fruits in bronze kraters, swags of holly, juniper, and pine over paintings and door lintels, and ornate porcelain containers full of forced paperwhites.

"Off to the hospital again?" her mother asked her, entering the dining room as Astoria stood to leave. It wasn't even eight in the morning. "Good gracious, they're certainly keeping you busy. You're sure you're feeling all right?"

"I'm fine, mother," she answered automatically, and dashed away to the coat room before she could undergo a full inspection. The truth was that she hadn't exactly been feeling her best. She'd often feel momentarily faint when she woke up, her vision blacking as she got out of bed to stumble towards the bathroom. And she'd found a suspicious set of bruises on her right calf that she wasn't entirely sure the cause of. But losing temporary vision and bumping into things when she couldn't see were usual occurrences for her. It was all likely more to do with her strained schedule. Three more days, she reminded herself. And then I can just bury myself in my bed and sleep forever.

The morning flew by. It was well past one o'clock before she found a moment to stop and get something to eat. She'd been going over the order of speakers and special guests in her head, mentally checking off which of them had sent an owl confirming their presence. Barnabas Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet, check. Wilda Griffiths, Puddlemere United's Chaser, check. Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt, still outstanding. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy…

Malfoy. Here. In front of her. Draco was holding a plate with a tidy prawn salad sandwich on it, a bottle of gillywater in one hand.

"Is this seat free?"

She blinked at him for a second, but finally nodded and tried to quickly swallow a bite of her own sandwich, cheese and pickle.

Their paths crossed so rarely at the hospital that Astoria hadn't really expected to run into him. Which was just silly, now that she thought about it. But here he was, looking every bit himself - calm, collected, and slightly disapproving.

"I'm sorry I haven't written, I've been so busy…" The words failed on her lips. Busy, really? How original.

"I can see that. You look exhausted. Has Dwerryhouse turned you into his house-elf?"

She bristled. "You sound like my mother."

He actually laughed, the prat. "Seeing wine lists in your dreams, are you?" And then he smiled at her, a dangerous half-smile that made her heart patter and thump in her chest. What is going on? Is he not mad at me?

"I guess you're aware that the entire Malfoy family will be making an appearance," he said, then took a bite of his lunch.

"I know that your parents have said they're attending. Mine will be too."

And then he reached out and captured her hand with his, stroking his thumb alongside her wrist. Astoria's insides turned to jelly. Lord, she'd missed his touch.

"I'm looking forward to seeing what you've been up to. And to nab a dance with you, if you can carve out the time."

She couldn't help but smile back. "I think I can make that happen."

The night of the Gala arrived, and Astoria had been sent home at noon by Mr. Dwerryhouse.

"We've got it all under control, Astoria. I can't begin to thank you for your help with everything. Go home, take a nap, and I'll see you back here at half-past six."

She didn't even pretend to be insulted that everyone could see her tiredness on her face. Instead, she went straight home, slept like the dead for two hours of sleep, and then let her mother into her room to help her get ready.

At six-thirty exactly, the Greengrass family entered the Gala hall. As Astoria had hoped and planned, it glittered like an ice castle all around them. A small chamber ensemble played carols in one corner, the music weaving around the other guests engaged in small talk.

"Quite the setting," her mother remarked. Astoria felt her cheeks get warm with the praise. From Hemera Greengrass, that was practically gushing. "Where might we find a decent glass of wine?"

"You'll like the Appassimento Sangiovese." She pointed her parents towards where the bar was set up, and when she turned back around, there he was. Draco Malfoy was dressed to the nines in dark grey robes that slashed across his chest asymmetrically, then fell stylishly down along his tapered pants. The colour made his eyes glow… or maybe that was the glimmering lights above them. Astoria could honestly say she'd never seen a more handsome man. And he was walking towards her.

"You look sensational." His gaze swept her entire length. She'd decided to play it simple, in a long-sleeved black dupioni dress cut with a severe square neckline. It reminded her of the early renaissance portraits they'd seen on one of their art gallery dates. In keeping with that, she'd pulled her hair back tight and finished it with a headband studded with diamond stars.

"You look like you're going to get mentioned in the 'Best Dressed' portion of The Daily Prophet's event review." She drank him in like a warm mug of Butterbeer. Holy Hufflepuff, she wanted to run her hands all over him, and follow the draping right down to his hip, then reach around and…

"The credit goes to my mother. Mum, you recall Astoria - Daphne's sister."

Astoria yanked her eyes back up to see Narcissa extending a hand towards her. She put her polite game face back on and shook it. "Your fashion sense is legendary, Mrs. Malfoy."

"That's very kind of you to say, dear. Did I see your parents here as well?"

She glanced over to the bar, where Leon and Hemera were talking with Lucius by the bar. "You did." Oh sweet celestial heavens, what are they talking about?

"And is Daphne here as well?"

"No." Daphne had claimed previous plans for the evening weeks ago, but Astoria couldn't be sure if she'd been lying or not. It hardly seemed in character for her sister to skip an event where she could attract attention like honey. But she couldn't help being relieved. She'd worked hard on this event, and actually getting a bit of the limelight that her sister usually claimed was a strange but wonderful experience. "She had another engagement."

"I see. Well, Draco has told us how much you've been involved in planning the Gala. It's an essential skill to have for society life."

What does THAT mean?

"It's been an exhausting, but incredibly rewarding experience. I hope you enjoy yourselves tonight."

"We intend to. Lucius dear, come meet Astoria." Draco's father had left her parents and came to stand beside his wife. She noticed Draco's posture tightened, and his lips pulled slightly. From all she'd heard, Draco hadn't had the easiest relationship with his father. But so little of it had come from Draco himself, and she didn't want to jump to any conclusions.

"Miss Greengrass, I hear you had a hand in planning the event. Quite the upgrade from last year."

"Oh it was horribly gauche," Narcissa explained. "They did Twelve Days of Christmas, and there were birds EVERYWHERE. It was a noisy mess." She wrinkled her nose in disgust and disapproval. Astoria recognized the expression from seeing it on her son, and shot a glance over to him. He looked… nervous? Did he doubt her ability to converse politely with his parents? Or was he worried she'd say something, share something that she shouldn't?

She felt her own back get a bit straighter. "I did, thank you Mr. Malfoy. It's been a great deal of work, but I think the hospital deserves recognition for all the good it does every year."

They exchanged a few more polite observations on the work of St. Mungo's with her before moving on to meet with a Ministry representative. Draco let out a breath, as if he were relieved they had gone.

"That could have gone so much worse," he confessed.

"Do you doubt my ability to make smalltalk? I am a Greengrass, after all. Daphne didn't get ALL the social skills."

"It isn't that." He tucked his hand under her elbow, leading her to a quieter corner near the back wall. "They've never been happy with my volunteering here."

"What? Whyever not?"

He looked over at them again, now in a deep conversation with an older man wearing a monocle. "About ten years ago, St. Mungo's created a sabbatical program that sends experienced Healers to study Muggle medicine. The decision was controversial at best, and my parents were livid and withdrew their financial support when it passed. They wouldn't be here tonight if they weren't trying to detract attention from my sentencing, which they felt was done to provoke them specifically."

"Oh." She had kept herself well-distanced from the complex layers of politics that made up the Wizarding World, but these past few weeks had shown her that distance didn't necessarily keep one out of it all. She felt a grudging flicker of appreciation for her parents' unrelenting lessons in etiquette. And while the topic of the Muggle world was still a sensitive one between her and Draco, she was relieved it hadn't come up between her and his parents. Having a debate about the intellectual value of Muggle ideas with Draco was one thing… but with Lucius and Narcissa? Astoria doubted it would have ended well. "I suppose we dodged a Bludger there."

"You have no idea."

"Do they… do they know we've been spending time together?"

He shot her a disbelieving look. "They read the Prophet, Astoria."

"I meant, have you told them anything about me?" My completely contrary principles, for one?

"They know you're a Greengrass. That's all they need to know." His tone was impatient, and she could tell it was time to change the subject.

"Right. Well. I'm sure you'll be delighted to hear that I've been working on a Christmas gift for you." It was the right thing to say. Those beautiful grey eyes of his lit up, and his brow unfurrowed in curiosity.

"Have you now? In all your free time?"

"I have." She eyed him accusingly, but he just grinned back. "And it isn't finished yet, but I'd like to give it to you in person. Does your family do something grand on Christmas Day?"

He frowned. "We're spending Christmas in our villa, in France."

"Oh," she said again. So much for that plan.

"But I have something for you as well. Let's meet before I leave, on the 18th. The townhouse."

"Alright."

"Come for the night."

She smiled, a sexy slow smile as she realised what he was asking. "Alright," she said again, but in a much warmer way than the first time.

"Now." He picked up her hand and kissed it, his lips feeling warm against her cold knuckles. "I was promised a waltz."

Astoria was humming The Christmas Tree Waltz to herself all the way home. It had been an indisputable success of a night: she'd met his parents without things going pear-shaped; the Gala had been the most successful one in years, raising more Galleons that anyone had expected; her parents had glowed all night with pride for her, and Daphne hadn't been there to demand her share. Now, all that was left was to peel the night's glamour off of her and sleep for a week straight.

She'd expected the gilt of the night before to have faded the next morning. Instead, her parents smiled indulgently at her as she picked up the Prophet over breakfast.

"A Flurry of Philanthropy - This year's Annual Fundraiser at St. Mungo's raises more than expected, thanks to a stellar planning team of Rigel Dwerryhouse and apprentice Astoria Greengrass. Long known for their support of the hospital, the Greengrasses mantle seems to have been picked up by their youngest daughter - a stunningly competent witch, if last night's success was any sign."

As she read aloud, she kept looking up at her parents, who continued to beam. "You're not… angry? That they're shining the spotlight on me?" It was contrary to everything she'd expected from them.

"You've earned it. Legacy, Dignity, and Duty, dear." Did her mother have tears in her eyes? What was happening. "We're happy to see you with a purpose. And you looked so happy, dancing with Draco last night."

Maybe she should pinch herself. "I… it was a good night." It was all she could manage.

Her parents rose to leave the dining room, and her father even put a hand on her shoulder before he left. She couldn't help it. She swallowed hard, a lump of emotion in her throat. And then she kept reading the article.

"Miss Greengrass has been most recently mentioned in the Prophet linked to Draco Malfoy, and the two made a stunning couple on the dance floor at the Gala. Rumour has it that the young Malfoy will also be following in his own parents' footsteps; he has been spotted recently speaking with several influential members of the Ministry. The spotless reputation of the Greengrass name might be just the thing to polish up some of the Malfoys' post-War tarnish. If Draco is considering a more permanent alliance, Miss Greengrass would certainly be well-placed to become a social sensation."

Her pastry tasted like ash; the orange juice like acid. This was why her parents were delighted.

She'd become Daphne. Not in character, obviously, but in perception. Is that what she was destined to be? A young bride? Society's darling? Another noble connection between Sacred Eight families?

And is that what Draco wanted? What had he said at Daphne's party, all those months ago? To hell with it all. I'm sick of it. But then she'd told him that he could accomplish anything he put his mind to. Told him he was more like his game-changing great-grandfather than his own father or grandfather. Is this what he thinks -I- want?

She pushed her plate away and left before finishing anything. How had it come to this? It was just supposed to be a bit of rebellious fun. She wanted drinking champagne on a rooftop, flying through London parks at night, doing untellable things in each house of that ostentatious townhouse. Wasn't that what young people did? Had fun, acted recklessly? Of course she hadn't expected it to last forever… but it felt like she'd only had a teaspoon of it before responsibility and duty had come rushing back.

It'll pass, she tried telling herself. This idiotic aggrandisement. The Daily Prophet had an attention span of exactly a day most of the time. This would pass too. And until it did, she would lie low. Sleep for a week, like she promised herself. Maybe see a concert with Draco - something light and noncommittal. No deep conversations about their shared trauma, or their futures.

For the most part, Astoria had been right. The Daily Prophet wasted no time in switching gears and returning to their constant darling Harry Potter, who'd just been involved in some former Death Eater sting operation. And when she did end up seeing Draco for an opera matinee, she feigned ignorance and told him she hadn't even read the write-up on the Gala. She wasn't sure he'd believed her, but it tidily dodged any follow-up questions.

She even visited St. Mungo's a couple times, to continue offering assistance where it might be needed. It was nice to feel useful, she realised. She didn't need people to see her help - in fact, she much preferred working in the background. And the grateful looks that the various Healers and Administrators shot her were food for her questioning soul.

It didn't mean anything that, despite returning to a normal cycle of sleep, she felt more tired than ever. And that nosebleed she'd had the other morning was absolutely due to the drop in temperature and humidity. December could be cruel that way.

She was in the Sitting Room on the afternoon of the 18th, painstakingly wrapping Draco's gift. It was done, thank goodness, though she'd only been able to test it the once.

"If it isn't the future Mrs. Malfoy." Daphne's voice cut through the silence with a sharp edge. Astoria hadn't seen her sister much in the past few days, but any time she had it had been unpleasant. Daphne obviously believed that Astoria was wilfully trying to usurp her authority as firstborn.

"What do you want, Daphne?" She carefully added Spellotape to the meticulously folded crimson paper.

"You better not be planning to sneak out tonight."

She sighed in frustration. "Or what? You'll tell on me? It would probably make Mum and Dad even happier."

"He's a monster, Astoria. Joining his family would ruin us. Ruin you. I don't see how you can just forgive what he's done, what his family has done."

Astoria stood up, her temper provoked. "And I don't see what your game is here, Daphne. Is this really about Draco? I thought he was your friend… whatever that means to you. Or are you just mad that I've stolen the attention away from you?"

"Please," she snarled. "The Daily Prophet wouldn't even know you existed if it weren't for me."

Wait… what?

"What does that mean?"

The beautiful blonde's face screwed up with contempt. "I told you it would be bad for the family. He's obviously using you. What did the Prophet say, 'the Greengrass's spotless reputation'?"

"Daphne, WHAT DID YOU DO?" She was using every piece of her willpower to not shake the answer out of her.

"I sent them the photo of you and Draco at that Muggle restaurant. To show you just what kind of things get written about the Malfoys."

Astoria's head pounded. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears, as if she were about to faint. But her vision was perfectly clear.

"What is wrong with you?" The words quavered with fury. "How could you do this?"

And then Daphne laughed bitterly. "You don't even know, do you? So wrapped up in yourself, all the time. Maybe you and Draco do deserve each other." She turned on her heel and left.

Astoria sat back down and started trying to regulate her breathing. Her lips were buzzing, and she found herself clenching her fists so tightly that her nails made indentations in her palms.

What did that mean? What didn't she know? Admittedly, she hadn't spent much of her thoughts on Daphne lately, beyond noticing she wasn't around much. But that's not anything unusual… is it? If only her heart would quiet down a bit, so she could think.

It didn't become any clearer after she had. Instead of puzzling out the meaning behind her sister's words, she found herself fixated on her other words. She'd heard some just like them once before, during the big fight she and Tullia had had. That she was self-absorbed, blind to the world around her. And it was partly true, wasn't it? Having the blood curse meant she'd had to pay close attention to herself at all times. Sometimes at the loss of paying attention to those around her. Something was obviously up with Daphne, and she hadn't even noticed.

Astoria excused herself to her bedroom right after dinner, saying she was tired. It wasn't even a lie, and Mother waved her right up in agreement. Mechanically, she slipped on an oversized cream turtleneck dress over a pair of deep crimson hose. Grabbing Draco's present and her wand, she snuck out.

Just seeing Draco calmed her down.

"Hey," he greeted her at the door. He was wearing all black, just a v-necked cashmere sweater and perfectly tailored pants. Astoria tried not to drool.

"Happy Christmas to you too," she got in before his lips were on hers and oh, wasn't it perfect. His weight against hers, his hand on her back pulling her closer… she could just live here forever. With Draco Malfoy kissing her. Couldn't it just always be this easy?

"Where's my present? Is it in here?" He smoothed his hand down the back of her dress, under it, then up her thigh. She attempted to keep her giggle low and sexy as she pushed his hand back down.

"Let's maybe get out of the doorway first. It's not exactly comfortable weather." It was somewhere between ice pellets and freezing rain. Not quite believing that Draco would be the first one to move, she slid past him and urged him to follow her by hooking a finger in his waistband.

He followed her up the stairs, wasting no opportunity to touch her - a thigh grab here, a caress there. By the time they got to the Study, lit by a blazing fire in the hearth, they were tugging each other to the floor..

They both felt the urgency of it. She'd gone so long without having his body pressed against hers, him so obviously starving for every part of her. They kicked their shoes off, and then her hands fumbled under his sweater to wrestle it off his head. He followed by him yanking down her hose and pushing the sweater up as he returned to her waiting lips. As he kissed her hard enough to breath, she let out a moan. Yes, yes, more of this.

Even as they battled as to who wanted to devour the other more, his hands - those slender, skillful hands - made quick work of her knickers and his briefs. Impatiently, she lifted her right leg and tried to wrap it around him, to press him back close. But he had other ideas and grabbed her calf, bending it back and over his shoulder before plunging into her.

She actually screamed. The sudden sensations took her over, and she lost herself in Draco's insatiable thrusts. The rhythmic, animalistic pounding against the Aubusson below them. The promise of an incredible climax had her tightening all her muscles, and breathing so shallowly, that her face began to buzz at the lack of oxygen.

"Fuck, I've missed this. Missed you and your delectable body." Draco's voice was somewhere between a purr and a growl. Astoria tried to restore her breathing to a regular pattern, but she was so close to the edge…

She lost her vision as her entire body tensed and jerked, writhing with orgasm before relaxing completely. Draco moaned as she tightened around him, and then held still against her, spilling out his own release.

Her leg slid down to the floor, and Draco dropped to his forearms, hovering over her. He was on fire, his heat a blanket over her, the same temperature as the crackling logs beside them. She never wanted to move again. I can die happy now.

With a final pressing of lips, Draco rolled off her. They both lay there until their breaths slowed and Astoria found herself moaning in satisfaction.

"And a Happy Christmas to you too."

Before she could summon any motivation to move, Draco had risen and fastened his pants back up. She wanted to tell him not to put his sweater back on as he moved away, but he instead reached for an ivory chenille blanket that was waiting on a nearby side table.

"Why Mr. Malfoy, one would almost think you'd planned ahead."

"You're not the only one who can set a scene. You know the Prophet called you 'stunningly competent'?"

Despite the heat, Astoria felt cold. Icy reality was sneaking back in, and she sat up to take the blanket gladly. She wrapped it around her and got to her feet.

"Where did your present end up?"

"Are we doing the exchange now, then? Greedy little thing, aren't you?" He smirked playfully. Draco - in a playful mood. His joy helped pull her back to the moment, and she scanned the room for where the little box had landed. There it was - by the door, on a shelf. At least she hadn't tossed it across the room or some other nonsense. As she retrieved it, Draco walked over to the massive marble-topped desk and opened one of its drawers. Out of it, he produced his own box, a sleek black and gold affair.

They settled back in to their place against the fire. "Mine first," she commanded. "I like the look of that box."

"Thought you might," he said with another smile. "All yours," he said as he handed it over.

It was much heavier than its dimensions belied. The box itself was an enamel and gilt affair, with fine lines tracing its corners. She removed the lid and peered in.

"Is this… an orrery?" It wasn't like any of them she'd ever seen - it was flat, for one. It almost looked like a clock. But she recognized signs for the sun, moon, five of the planets, and the horoscopes.

"An ancient Greek one. Hellenic, to be exact. Spent some time in the Library of Alexandria if the stories are to be believed. It's a few planets short of being practical… but I know how much you love astronomy."

"And the Classics." It was possibly the most perfect gift she'd ever received. "It's perfect, Draco. Just… perfect. Where on earth did you find it?"

"My father collects things. Priceless things, especially."

Priceless. "Does he… know you took it?"

"Ha," Draco scoffed. "I doubt he even remembered he acquired it. But no, I didn't steal it. Father lets me help with the trading sometimes, so I sold it to myself."

"Oh." Astoria again wondered what Draco really thought of his father. They sounded sometimes like they had more of a business relationship than a family one.

"My turn now." He prodded her naked thigh. "I like gifts."

"I can see that. Here you are then."

She'd found the music box in one of her Diagon Alley romps. It was a delightful round shape, carved from a lovely rosy brown wood that the shop owner told her was pear wood ('Wand-quality!' they'd insisted) from Switzerland. It had a beautiful pear tree carved into its lid. After a couple weeks of careful Transfiguration work, Astoria had managed to change the melody from some obscure alpine folktale to play one of her favourite Christmas songs: the Burgundian Carol.

Finally, she'd then taken her gold-embossing quill (something she hadn't used since her time at Hogwarts) and painstakingly inked tiny ancient runes around the base. She hummed the melody while she inked, so each rune glimmered on beat to the music.

"It's enchanted. If it works properly, it's supposed to cast a soul-soothing charm while it's being played. You know, to lessen stress and anxiety. I thought it might help you sleep."

He eyed it suspiciously. "'If it works properly'? Where did you get it, Borgin and Burkes? Is there a chance I'll never wake up?"

"No, no!" she assured him, even as he laughed at her. He was teasing her again. She made a face, which only made him laugh harder. "I meant that I tested the enchantment myself and I didn't become a narcoleptic or anything."

He inspected it closer, reading the minute gold lettering, then looked back up at her, eyes widened with understanding. "Did you… make it?"

"Hardly. It's an antique music box, from Switzerland apparently. I just changed the music and added the runes."

"So you enchanted it." Those silver eyes glinted with fire as they pulled the truth from her.

"...Yes?"

And then there was heavy silence, with Astoria trying to read something - anything - from Draco's emotionless expression. Was he worried that she didn't know what she was doing? Or maybe he was against being under any kind of enchantment - even one meant to do no harm. She'd bet that was it. Who knows what he'd experienced in his time with the Death Eaters.

But before she could apologise, he asked, "How did you learn how to do this?"

"Oh, you know, Ancient Runes was my best subject."

He didn't look satisfied. "This is more than just Ancient Runes. This is also powerful Transfiguration and Charms work, combined with music, combined with artifice."

"Well, it was a little more complicated than the scarf I made in school, but there's a wonderful book in our home library about musical spells, and I thought I'd try it out."

He looked at her again, as implacable as ever, then turned the key to start the music. A beautiful broken minor chord chimed through the air. Just like when she'd tested it, she found herself untensing parts of her that she hadn't known were tensed, and a contented heaviness settled in around her.

"They were right," Draco finally said. "You are a stunningly competent witch." He set the box down still playing, and pulled himself close to her. They sat aside one another, faces nearly touching, and he stroked her cheek with such tenderness that she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Draco was looking at her with such intensity, she thought she might melt.

"It's perfect." And then he kissed her, gently, sweetly, like he was melting too.

They eventually made their way upstairs to one of the bedrooms, one done in a Japonaiserie style that looked quite similar to the box her orrery came in. She sat on the edge of the bed with her blanket wrapped around her, waiting for Draco to come out of the ensuite. She was exhausted. Bone-deep exhausted, to the point of almost wanting to cry. It's the relief, she tried to assure herself. But something kept tugging inside her, not quite an ache or a pain. Not yet, anyway.

Oh, no. No, no, no.

Draco was just rinsing his hands when Astoria's first cry of pain reached him.

It seems most inevitable that, in my attempt to get this chapter up before this Real World Christmas, I myself got attacked by my very own illness. Flu has taken me right out this week, so my apologies if this chapter isn't as well proofed or edited as it usually is. I feel a devilish satisfaction leaving you readers on a cliffhanger, I won't lie. And I really do need to tackle a chapter of Part I before returning to this one, so it might be a little while. But as always, I thank you for your patience and your patronage. Comments are life. Happy December. May the new year bring blessings to us all.