It didn't take me long to realise that time hadn't paused on the Muggle world while I'd been away at Hogwarts; even though it was exactly what I'd half-expected: for everything to be and look exactly like it had the year before, when I'd left for King's Cross.

But no. The first hint I had that things were different at the Residence was Lucy's empty room: she'd been one of the oldest residents the year before, and at some point during the last months she'd graduated and had now moved onto greener pastures —which is to say, she was now old enough not to be a ward of the state any longer. Apparently they'd even thrown her a little farewell party. And while I should have expected at least that one change, given her age, her absence still took me as somewhat of a jarring surprise.

The other main change was even more unpleasant, though.

I was sitting on the little, low brick ledge by the short span of stairs that descended to the Residence's back garden —a narrow expanse of dirt and grass, with some uneven patches of flowers and a couple of trees, all of it enclosed by a tall wood fence— and reading a book from Hogwarts; basking under the warmth of the sun as I took advantage of it being summer, and so one of those rare days in Britain when the sky wasn't too overcast.

The book itself wasn't that interesting, truth be told. I had taken advantage of the sudden increase in free time during those last few days after our exams were over to peruse the school library in search of tomes that might hold answers to my... well, to my nature, I guessed. Both in regards of my blood and my fore-knowledge; though I had a growing suspicion both things might be related after all.

But it wasn't that easy, given that I wasn't exactly sure of what to search for —it was one of those 'I'll know it when I see it' situations, which wasn't the most efficient way of engaging into academic research. And it goes without saying that I couldn't simply ask Madam Pince for helpful pointers either. One, because Madam Pince; and two, because there wasn't an easy way for me to justify needing those particular books by appealing to our school work, given that they had absolutely nothing to do with our classes' contents as first years —or second years now, I guessed.

So yeah, I had resorted to wandering the stacks aimlessly and pretty much hoping against hope that I'd manage to find something interesting or useful as if by magic. In the end I'd ended up with a couple of books that I'd managed to... uh... 'borrow' for my summer reading, as it were.

I doubted Madam Pince would miss them; there were thousands of other books in that library!

But the current one on top of my knees —'The Theory of Fate: A Comprehensive Analysis of Seers and Their Visions'— had turned out to be somewhat of a disappointment. It was way, way too academical for my liking, dabbling into advanced topics of arithmancy, magical theory and numerology that simply flew higher above my head than an airliner. I guessed it would have been the perfect textbook if I were a N.E.W.T. student wanting to write a dissertation on how the predictions of a seer tended to follow the Muirkes Laws on the recursivity of destiny or some such. Which yeah, not really what I was looking for.

But it wasn't a complete loss, either. At least it taught me the difference between the different types of destiny, fates and fortunes; and how some of them were pretty much guaranteed to happen, while others could easily be avoided when forewarned. The problem, of course, was telling which vision was which type.

Not that any of that applied directly to me, as my fore-knowledge didn't come in the form of sudden visions or eyes that rolled back as your tongue spoke in riddles; but in memories of having read a book series and watched some films. Unsurprisingly, the book didn't have anything to say on that particular source of information on the future.

However, it did lead me to one other interesting discovery: that the threads of fate could act as... rubber bands of sorts, in a sense; pushing back against the forces trying to change them. It was something that could explain a little of what had happened during the last year, of how most of the events relating to the core plot turned out to be a little worse, a little more dangerous and dramatic than they had been in the book and film: my very presence and the changes around it —such as Dumbledore choosing Duskhaven over Quirrell— bending the threads, and those in turn pushing back.

The conclusion of that line of thought was a worrying one, as I was very aware of what next year held in store: a bloody basilisk. And so things going 'a little worse' could easily mean the deaths of one or more students. And given that I was a student, that on its own warranted a serious reconsideration of my whole strategy of trying to keep the plot as close to the one I remembered as possible; because, what was the point of doing that if it only resulted in me —or Tracey, or most likely: Hermione— getting killed by the giant snake?

Reconsideration was the right word. As in, I was right now considering time and time again how exactly I should intervene to purposefully pre-empt the whole plot of 'Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets' from taking place at all. And what consequences, if any, that change would carry in the years to come. I thought it would be fine, for the most part. My fore-knowledge was the ace up my sleeve, and so I didn't want to lose that by entirely derailing the future events; but the second book was always the odd one out, in that it wasn't as strongly connected to the rest of the series. No Voldemort, for starters. And what good was an ace if you never used it when it mattered?

So yeah, a lot of deep thinking, which was why I wasn't really paying that much attention to the book itself. But also, because Astrid's presence kept distracting me.

And that was the other main change: Astrid. Where I'd left a subdued, fearful girl that always seemed to be afraid of the world, the Astrid that I met upon my return almost felt like someone else entirely.

She was now running like blazes, racing across the back garden as she played tag with the new boy —Kenneth, apparently. He was a wiry kid her same age that was completely unable to stay still for longer than a second, always bouncing on his feet and twitching in excited nervousness. And he seemed to have taken a liking to my room-mate —or she to him— because they went everywhere together.

But the key, Earth-shattering change was that Astrid was outdoors. She was outdoors, without her blanket.

Which made me feel like I'd missed something important, some critical step in her life, her growth; a breakthrough that I should have been here for. And while I was certainly happy for her, at the same time a dark, ugly side of me wished that it wouldn't have happened, that I could have returned to my Astrid; the one I remembered from the year before. Because this new girl didn't seem like she needed me all that much.

And why should she, now that she had Kenneth? Someone who was here day after day, who hadn't abandoned her to go play witch.

I could almost sense it: this gap, this chasm between us that grew a little bit larger with every passing day. With every experience she had that I wasn't here for; with every adventure of mine that I couldn't tell her about. The way that my path was taking me away from hers; from the entire Muggle world. A world that was starting to feel a little grey, a little monotone in comparison, truth be told. Her world, the world of Astrid, Colin and the others.

But maybe not mine, not any longer.

No. Now I was well on my way to become merely a summer visitor to this world of cars and tellies, of films and printers. And I suspected that, without my fore-knowledge about the future inventions and social changes —phones and the Internet and all that— in a few years more I would have grown completely out of touch; as lost and incapable of navigating it as any of those Slytherin pure-bloods would be today.

The other issue was that I was starting to get older myself —not old older, but just enough that playing silly chasing games in the garden didn't sound as fun as it once did. Although I still maintained a healthy appetite for some of the other common pastimes at the Residence: I enjoyed watching shows and the Gameboy; and taking stuff that wasn't mine. In fact, a couple of judicious —and secret— uses of my Skeleton key in the days since my return had served me to quickly reinforce my reputation as the Residence's master thief.

Well, second only to Colin, maybe. Somehow the fifteen-year-old still managed to outdo me time and time again, and without using any magic.

And speaking of the devil, I paused my reading when a shadow fell across the pages of my book, turning my head to discover Colin standing next to me. He offered me the bag of assorted illegal sweets he was carrying, and I took a cherry drop without a word.

"I bring bad news," he said, "the Giraffe is asking for you."

"Shit."

"Yep. Did you get caught? Getting sloppy?"

I shot him a look of faux indignation. "Caught? Me? You insult me! I should duel you for that!"

He shrugged. "They say a gentleman should never duel a lady."

"Good thing I'm not a gentleman, then."

He snorted dismissively, before rummaging in the bag and extracting a crystal mint that he then put in his own mouth.

"So, did you get any juicy loot at your fancy school?" he asked after a beat.

I nodded. "Not as much as I could, but probably more than I should."

"What does that mean? Are you going all upstanding citizen on us now?"

"Nah... it's just... more difficult there, easier to get caught. They even have the prefects doing patrols at night, you know."

He shrugged. "You know the saying: more risk, more reward. Besides, you owe it to us."

"Oh, I owe you? I'd love to hear how."

"Well, see: you said the other night that they put you in the same house with all those posh fellows, right?" at my nod, he continued: "Then it's like in Robin Hood: you must steal from the rich, to share the booty with us humble folk. 'Tis but the right thing to do."

I let out a laugh. "Like shit you're humble."

"Humbler than them posh buggers! Am I not?"

Well, he was right about that, at least. But rather than conceding the point I stood up: "I'll better see what the Giraffe wants, before she gets agitated."

"Yeah. Good luck with that."

I shrugged. "It's probably just about replacing the clothes I've outgrown. I need new pyjamas." —and sure, my fairy ones might have had resizing charms to account for just that, but I couldn't exactly wear them here, could I?

With that thought in mind I entered the building and walked up to her office, which compared to the splendour and majesty of Dumbledore's massive one now felt like a little, pitiful thing. Cluttered, poorly lit and full of filing cabinets; as if it was only half office, half archive room.

Though this office had one thing in common with that of the Headmaster, I realised as I entered to find the Giraffe staring me down from behind her desk: there were gargoyles in both of them.

"Sit, Sylvia," she commanded. "Your grades from Hogwarts School have arrived."

You know, as if that was a perfectly normal sentence for her to utter. But she hadn't tripped on the name, pronouncing it as nonchalantly as if it had been 'Harrow School' or 'Westminster'. And sure enough, she was holding a parchment in her hands that looked positively out of place among the piles of papers and notes spread across her desk.

What the hell? Had Dumbledore let her in on the secret?

"I must say I'm disappointed, though," she continued, reading from the parchment. "Care to explain how you have failed your Gardening class?"

My eyes were very open, and I could only utter an "Uh..."

"I see. At least the rest of your grades are acceptable. You received good results in Maths and Chemistry, as well as..." she went a little cross-eyed for a moment "...as well as in Physical Education and... Martial Arts."

"Can I see it?" I asked, extending my hand.

"It's 'may I see it'," she replied. But she handed the parchment to me.

I quickly glanced over it and sure enough, it was a Hogwarts parchment, letterhead and all. And the names of the subjects matched perfectly with those I was already familiar with. So no 'Maths' or 'Chemistry' anywhere to be found. However, in her way the Giraffe had been saying the truth: next to Herbology it did say 'Poor'. That hag Sprout had given me a failing grade, after all!

But I was starting to see what was happening here. And well, hats off to Dumbledore, I guessed. I wasn't sure if it was some sort of mind magic he had performed on the woman during his visit the previous year, of if it was the parchment itself that was enchanted to fool Muggles; but regardless, it was a pretty nifty trick.

One that would make sure the Giraffe kept a firm control over my schooling, though; and that I wouldn't be able to get away with failing any classes, wouldn't have any more freedom in that regard than any of the other kids at the Residence enjoyed. Even less so, if the Giraffe somehow believed that Hogwarts was some sort of very special, prestigious institution. Because she would make bloody sure I wouldn't tarnish the reputation of her Residence by doing something as crass as failing in my studies. So perhaps I should retract those kudos to the old wizard.

At least I had 'Outstandings' in Charms, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts and even Potions —though I guessed being a Slytherin might have helped somewhat there— with 'Exceeds Expectations' in almost everything else. All in all, not a bad result by any means; maybe even second only to Hermione. The Giraffe was just being a pain on my arse, as usual.

"I'll try to work harder in that class for next year," I hedged, trying to look appropriately contrite.

"Very well. And to help you with that I have modified your summer schedule. Since we do have a garden here, I added two more weekly hours of gardening work for your–"

"What?!"

"Sylvia–"

"But it's only Herb– er, Gardening that I failed!" I argued, slapping the parchment with my free hand. "I passed everything else with flying colours!"

Even Flying class, which I'd had my doubts about. But no, it turned out I had managed an 'Acceptable' there.

But the Giraffe didn't seem reassured, now furrowing her brow at me and straightening her blouse, something that in my experience never preceded anything good. She said: "You are meant to pass every single class you have, Sylvia! Attending such a prestigious school is a privilege you should be always thankful for and mindful of, and applying yourself to make sure you don't fail any of your exams is your duty as a student who has been granted a full scholarship. There are many other children your age who this grant could have benefited instead of you, and so you must make yourself worthy of it."

She was wrong about that, as I was pretty sure I was the only orphan witch my age in Britain raised by Muggles who were unaware of magic. But of course that was something I couldn't even begin to explain to her. So I simply sighed and said: "Believe me, it won't help any."

Because it was the truth. Sure, I didn't like normal plants either. But magical plants, it was them who didn't like me. That was an entirely different issue, and sweating under the summer sun while I weeded the Residence's stupid garden wasn't going to help me with that. It would only get me dirty and annoyed.

"We'll see about that. I understand you must also have summer homework from your other subjects?" I gave a tentative nod, and she continued: "Very well, I will also add a daily homework hour to your schedule, starting tomorrow."

"But I have until September to do it! That's like... aeons away!"

"Don't worry," she said matter-of-factly, her gaze returning to her notes. "If you run out of your assigned homework, we do have other schoolwork here you may do after that. Off you go now, girl!"

I groaned in protest, but left her office as soon as humanly possible; before she could think to add any more stupid hours to my stupid schedule.

And thus my beautiful, pure summer days became polluted by the writing of essays on such enthusing topics as the Druids Revolution for History of Magic, or why a double pinch could sometime substitute for a side-swish for Charms. And since the existence of the trace meant our teachers were aware many of us wouldn't be able to use our wands at all, they'd made sure all of the Hogwarts' homework was purely of the theoretical kind. It resulted in a lot of digging through my course books in search of those fine, little details I'd already forgotten about, but that our teachers certainly hadn't. That was counterbalanced by my time spent outdoors, however: weeding and watering, trimming and sowing; all under the supervision of Mrs. Williams, a gaunt curt woman who was part of the staff and a mix or sorts between a housekeeper, a nurse and a cook.

On the positive side, all that homework made it so that I simply couldn't forget about magic and the wizarding world, something that I'd been marginally afraid of while on my return trip aboard the Hogwarts Express. That with the prohibition of casting even a simple wand-lighting charm, it'd be just too easy to slip back into the Muggle mindset completely; to begin doubting whether my year at the castle had been real or simply a fever dream, an invention of my mind all along. Nothing like wracking my brain to figure out the number of clockwise and counter-clockwise stirs for a Cleaning Potion —with double the amount of Mistletoe berry— to cure you from that. I could almost picture Snape's satisfied sneer as he came up with his devious little problems, sitting all alone in his office... on a weekend.

Another cure for my re-Muggle-ification was that I still kept in contact with Tracey, thanks to the visits of her Fetaria —her family's reddish barn owl, with a heart-shaped face that looked like it was wearing a white mask— that I found one day perched on the branch of one of the trees outside and hooting at me while I did my gardening practices.

It was a good thing that Fetaria was a young, strong owl, because Tracey's family had gone to visit their relatives on the continent: to Hyperborea, a wizarding community in southern Greece where her aunt had a ranch and bred hippocampi, apparently. It was hard not to feel the ugly bite of envy when I read her description of the secret beaches of pure, white sand, and of how they had allowed her to ride one of the younger creatures. She'd also included a picture showing her mounted on the hippocampus' back as it galloped on the water's surface and jumped over crashing waves.

Yeah. Not envious at all. No sir.

That said, I was glad for it, and I hoped that having some nicer and fun experiences with magic would at least help Tracey get over the thing with Quirrellmort; help her sleep better.

I was also in contact with Daphne Greengrass, who sent me an overly formal letter congratulating me on my good grades —I didn't know how she knew my grades, because I for sure hadn't told her— and expressing her 'deepest wishes' that I would enjoy a nice summer. Cute.

But to be honest, not every waking hour of my summer was homework: most of them weren't, in fact; it's just that I had more work on my plate than most of the other kids did.

But there was also plenty of lazing around and playing games with the other residents; and as the days passed I got to enjoy the traditional holidays activities at the Residence: such as the yearly trip to the zoo, the trip to the swimming pool —where I discovered thanks to Colin's duckings that witches do not, in fact, float— or the more sedate 'Arts & Crafts' days, which included drawing and painting but I also suspected were thinly veiled excuses to get us girls to learn how to sew and do other classical feminine household chores —given that the boys were allowed to spend that same time kicking a ball outside, or whatever it was they did.

I also slowly got to reconnect with Astrid somewhat; on account of both of us still sharing the same room. Though I didn't fool myself: after all these months, this was now Astrid's room through and through. I was simply her summer guest.

It was right before our bedtime and I was laying on my bed and taking a look at the other book that I had extracted from the Hogwarts library, just killing some time while Astrid brushed her teeth. It was an old copy of a book by one Meridia Travers titled 'Magical Peoples and Their Customs' —so old that it was missing a few pages, in fact. I had been quite inspired when I'd found it, because it promised answers; with its listing of dozens of sapient mythical beings, complete with their basic factoids.

The truth was a little more nuanced, though, as the book predated the modern definition of magical 'beings', and pretty much lumped them together with many of what we now would refer to as 'beasts', based simply on facts such as if they could talk or looked vaguely humanoid. And so it covered beings such as goblins and merpeople, sure; but also trolls and pixies. Which yeah, it meant about half of the book was a waste for me, as I already had Scamander's 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them' for many of those —and that one had pictures!— And even though I didn't know what kind of magical being I was, at least I knew I wasn't a troll.

Wayne Hopkins might have disagreed on that particular point, though.

I was working under the assumption that I must be a half-breed —half human, half... not— and so it was a matter of identifying which species my other half belonged to. Simple enough, right? Except that... not really; because while most half-breeds showed physical characteristics that were significant enough to quickly classify them, I just... didn't.

No, instead I just looked completely human. Which meant it'd be very unlikely I was a half-giant, or a half-goblin, or a half-centaur. My skin wasn't nearly pale enough for a half-vampire, and an honest look at the mirror put my dreams of being a half-veela to rest; though on the positive side, at least a half-hag was also out.

I was working my way through the merpeople —as some of their half-breed offspring could look remarkably human when dry— but I wasn't too hopeful as I didn't particularly enjoy swimming. But more than that, none of the descriptions about the magical creatures I'd seen so far mentioned anything close to the experience of my fore-memories and rebirth. The closest thing to it that I could find were the phoenixes, and those were birds. Centaurs too, I guessed, with their attunement to divination, but their number of limbs didn't match mine.

So yeah, no luck so far. And I was frustrated enough that I snapped the book closed and placed it back on my nightstand right before Astrid entered the room. She took a quick glance at it, but like all my other Hogwarts books this one too was wearing a suitable Muggle-looking jacket to camouflage it as a generic boring school textbook —'Geography II', in its case.

But it must have caught her attention regardless, because as she sat down on her own bed next to mine, she asked me: "So... did you catch any villains?"

I blinked at her in surprise. And I was about to reply with some quip or another, when I realised what the true answer was:

"Uh... yes, actually. Two of them, in fact."

That seemed to take her by surprise. "What? Really?!"

"Yeah, real arse-holes, both of them. One was a psychopathic teenager, the other a murderous overlord. Oh! And I also killed a monster spider, bigger than a car!"

She gave me a narrow look: "A... spider? Are you pulling my leg?"

"Nuh-uh," I said, reaching to my trunk to extract 'Fantastic Beasts' and opening it to the page on acromantulas. "Take a look."

Because yeah: in for a penny, in for a pound; and to hell with the bloody Statute of Secrecy.

Astrid sat down by my side on my bed and started reading from the book: "Acra– Acromantula.Native of the East Indies, favours tropical forests... East Indies? Where's that?"

"Ah, it's old-fashioned for South-East Asia. But look at the picture!"

She did: it depicted the hairy, many-legged beast next to the little silhouette of a wizard for scale. At least the pictures in Scamander's book seemed to somehow be aware of when a Muggle was looking at them and didn't move that much, and so were marginally safe-ish to show to her; for a short while at least. She tilted her head in curiosity.

"That's not bigger than a car," she commented.

"It's bigger than a Mini!" I replied, closing the book once she'd gotten a good look, but before she could read the rest of the text. "Besides... they can grow much larger, you know. Imagine, a spider taller than you!"

She nodded, but seemed a bit reluctant to go back to her own bed, her eyes fixated on the now closed book on my lap. After a beat she asked:

"If they're from Asia... how come you had to fight one? Are they... are those things here too; in Britain?"

Oh, damn.

I let out a soft sigh; stoking Astrid's fears had certainly never been my intention, but now I could see how showing pictures of giant spiders to a ten year old girl who used to be afraid of her own shadow might have been... a tiny bit counterproductive.

"Well, not really," I explained. "You don't have to worry about them, especially not here so deep in a Mug– er, urban area. They only got into my school because... you know, the murderous overlord villain? He sneaked in a couple of them on purpose, to create a panic."

She nodded at that; though I didn't know how effective my words were.

"How– how did you kill it?"

"The acromantula? I dropped a heavy teacher's desk on top of it. It was an ugly, old desk too, so we– I mean, I was doing the school a favour, really."

That seemed to surprise her: "You have super-strength?"

"What?"

"You know, to throw that desk around?"

"Ah, no. I made it levitate in the air and–"

"You can make things fly?!" she exclaimed, her eyes open wide. "Telekinesis is the best power!"

"Shh!" I said, my own eyes going instinctively to our room's closed door. "Yes, but remember: you have to promise me you won't tell anyone about this. Not even Kenneth. It's very important, Astrid."

"Because of the evil people who steal memories," she said, nodding.

"Right. I wouldn't say they're evil, just civil servants; although you could argue the difference is–"

"Do you–?" she started, sounding suddenly bashful. "I mean... do you think... that I'll get powers too?"

Oh, damn.

I found myself at a loss for words, unsure how to explain to her that no, most likely she wouldn't, without crushing her dreams and self-esteem in the process. Bloody hell. This was the risk of telling Muggles, and I just knew this was a common pitfall for Muggleborns; one of the reasons so many of them ended up estranged from their families.

I mean, this was exactly what had happened in the story too, right? Between Lily Potter and her sister; and I'd just walked straight into it myself. Here I was, tempting her with a fantastic world that I knew she would never be allowed to access.

My pause as I searched for what to say must have been long enough to be an answer on its own, because I could see the hope abandoning Astrid's eyes, her body posture deflating a little as she stood up again and walked back to her bed, sitting on it.

"It's just... very rare, Astrid," I tried to explain. "It's still possible; but it is very unlikely, and I don't want to give you false hopes."

She nodded in silence.

"But look at it this way," I added. "You are one of the very few people who know about all this."

The girl didn't say anything at first, her lip trembling; then she replied: "Sorry... I knew... it was a stupid question. But..."

"It wasn't stupid, Astrid."

"And... you... will protect the house if a spider comes near, right?"

I shot her a confident grin and said: "Of course, but they wouldn't dare, if they know I'm here!" trying to lift her spirits. But she merely nodded again and replied: "Good night, Sylvia."

"'Night," I said, turning the room's lights off at last.

Oh, well. That could've gone better.

But also much, much worse. And a couple of days later she seemed to have mostly forgotten about our little conversation and was back to her usual —or well, new usual— self, back to running across the garden and playing games with Kenneth, who shot me looks now and then somewhere between curious and antagonistic. He seemed to have caught on that something had happened between Astrid and me, but not quite what; which was exactly how I preferred it.

And so, day by day, week by week my vacations slipped away. And one afternoon I finished with my Transfiguration problems to discover that I'd already completed all of my Hogwarts homework —which of course I never mentioned to the Giraffe, employing that hour of my schedule to work on my own research from that point on. And one bright, beautiful day Mrs. Williams took her own vacations —to Spain, apparently— and I was finally relieved from my gardening duties.

And then one morning I was watching 'Rugrats' on our communal telly when Gary from the staff entered the large living room and simply stood there, his eyes fixated on a blank wall. I didn't pay him any attention at first, but when a few seconds had passed I turned my gaze on him. He still wasn't moving.

"Gary?" I asked.

His whole body jerked, as he turned to face me.

"Oh! There you are! Ah... you need to... go to the... foyer?"

"The foyer?"

He nodded distracted, then turned back to look at the random spot on the wall.

I stood up slowly and approached him. He was mumbling: "But where did I...? Uh..."

"Hey, Gary. Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes. But... remember... about the foyer."

"Hmm... why don't you sit down on the couch? Just for a little bit, will you?"

"That... sure, yes. That sounds like... a good idea," he said. But still he remained standing.

Gently, I grabbed his arm and lead him towards the pale blue couch that presided our living room. He seemed surprised at seeing it, saying: "Oh! I had forgotten where it was! Can you believe that?" Then his eyes went to the cartoons on the screen, and he laughed at something Angelica had just said, slapping his thigh.

I took a couple steps away, waited for a few moments longer to see he wasn't about to stand up and jump through the glass windows or something, then edged my way towards the door leading to the foyer.

I tried to be as silent as possible, ninja-stepping my way there; because this little episode pretty much smelled magic a mile away. And the issue was that —should this be some sort of revenge attack by Selwyn and company— my wand was inside my trunk; in my room upstairs. A room that I simply couldn't get to without crossing through the foyer in the first place.

So yeah, my eyes wandered in search of any random object I could use as an impromptu melee weapon should the need arise, and my ears were all open to any and all strange sounds. But when I leaned over the door's frame to take a quick glance at the house's entrance, I felt a smile tug at my lips at the sight that waited for me there.