A/N: Finally back to this one again. Enjoy the chapter, and comment/review your thoughts. I love replying where I can! Enjoy!

Look, Harry generally didn't like going outside, especially for lengthy periods of time. As someone mega-famous in the magical world, he often mistook that disastrous fame as extending to the muggle world in which he now lived. Strangers would speak as they passed him, in low tones, and his ears would immediately amplify their words in case they were spreading rumours about him.

Cashiers giving him an odd look meant they posed danger, or believed he did so. Even though Harry knew, consciously somewhere in that thing he called a brain, that they were normal.

Just normal, regular people living their lives in a normal, regular way.

And it was Harry that was abnormal, since he couldn't get the truth through his thick skull that normal, regular people weren't death eaters in disguise, nor reporters scooping into his life for a tasty treat to smear on the morning papers.

He often remembered his sixth year at Hogwarts, when Hermione and his other friends battled the near impossible task of getting anything through to him. Now, it was Harry who found the same thing almost insurmountable—getting through to himself.

However, with a ten year old girl named Elizabeth on his tail, Harry couldn't exactly just go home and alleviate that anxiety inside him. Elizabeth would follow him, and given how sassy she was, probably brew up a storm if Harry tried to refuse. Like crying wolf until the neighbours came out gunning for Harry with pitchforks and a little call to nine-nine-nine.

He couldn't win the verbal war against the girl, either—but maybe, just maybe, he could best her in the Battle of Minds.

So, they strolled into Beaconlight Park, famous in these parts for its…well, beacon emitting light from its centre. Light that nuzzled its way through a few white clouds to reach blue skies. Fresh smells of grass lingered in the air, mixed with something flowery, and natural sunlight bathed distant oak trees a particularly bright shade of brown.

And the Battle of Minds began.

"Oi, where we goin'?" Elizabeth asked from beside him. "N'less you live in that beacon there." She skipped ahead, her ragged sundress flowing behind her as she turned to face Harry, The Hobbit held in a hand.

"Don't tell me," she whispered, leaning in. "Issit a magical beacon?"

Harry had to stop himself from laughing. He couldn't let Elizabeth see the smile threatening to overtake his face. He couldn't let her, nor anyone else, break down his defences and camp in the confines of his heart.

Because…because that was scarier than anything Voldemort and his minions could do. Human connection, to Harry, caused the strongest fear he'd ever felt to stir within his chest.

For a deep-seated reason Harry didn't even know about.

So Harry, to win this Battle of Minds, had to find a path to get rid of Elizabeth. Somehow. In some way. Even though that same deep-seated part of his heart wanted to care for this abused child the way Harry had wished for all those years ago.

"It's not a magical beacon," he said. "And you've got to keep quiet about magic. Not something ordinary muggles are allowed to know—"

"Muggles?" Elizabeth looked more confused than Ron studying whilst hungover from underage drinking firewhiskey. "Whassa muggle? Some kinda insect or summat?"

Harry was about to explain, but then a thought struck his mind like a lightning bolt. That explaining the magical world to Elizabeth would only greater attach her to himself. And if he was to get rid of her, in winning this Battle of Minds, he couldn't allow that to happen.

Despite how much he yearned to give a soul the childhood he always wished for.

But he just couldn't let that happen.

Yet, as though the conscious was truly determined solely by the deepest desires of the subconscious, Harry found himself speaking.

"A muggle is a person who can't do magic, like most people around us. In fact, most people in the world are muggles."

"So, like, why can some peeps do magic and some peeps can't? Am I a muggle?"

Harry shrugged, as they strolled across the smooth concrete path winding around the park in a circle.

"No one knows the origin of magic, really," Harry said. "On this, your guess is as good as mine."

Elizabeth stopped abruptly. Gazed up at him, one eye narrowed with the other wide open. A very…disconcerting sight to say the least.

How the hell is a ten-year-old more intimidating than a basilisk, for crying out loud?

"Ya never answered my second question, did ya? Sneaky Harry."

"Hey, I'm not sneaky. And if you'd have let me finish, I would've answered it. You've got to let people finish talking sometimes."

"No can do, Sneaky Harry."

They approached a pair of benches to one side of the park, overlooking the greenery and tall trees around them. Except, instead of being beside one another, the benches faced opposite directions, back to back with each other.

When Harry sat down on the bench facing the street, with cars zipping past and their engines rumbling, Elizabeth didn't sit beside him. Instead, she plopped herself down on the bench behind him. And, despite the wind whistling its tune around them, Harry just knew that girl's legs were swinging back and forth given her relentless energy.

"Oi, ya gonna answer my question or wha—"

"You're definitely magical. One hundred percent. And there isn't a doubt about it."

Elizabeth paused for a second, her mind finally thinking for once. Then, after much mulling over Harry's words, "Hey, you interrupted me. That ain't nice, issit?"

Harry had to force his head to stay straight and not break itself to whip round and face her. "Says you. You've interrupted me like ten times today already."

"But I'm only ten years old. You really gonna…gonna hate on a kid about that?"

Her voice, by the end, grew tender and soft and low, and Harry's mind flicked to a time when he had—

Gazed up at his Maths teacher, a cruel Mr Hutch who constantly picked on Harry when he got the answer wrong. Sure, Mr Hutch picked on everyone, but his snake-like eyes always slithered to Harry when the other targets weren't available. And then those venomous, biting insults would tear Harry's mind with thousands of poisonous mental scars. And one time, Harry summoned the courage from somewhere deep in his chest to fire back—"But I'm just a child. You really hate children?" And Mr Hutch, without even blinking as though he truly was cold-blooded, grinned evilly and bit more chunks out of Harry's self-esteem. So when—

Elizabeth asked him that question, voice transforming from sassy to vulnerable in the blink of an eye, Harry couldn't shoot back a witty reply (not that he'd win the exchange anyhow).

No, he had to give the reply he'd always wanted.

"Kids deserve…deserve kindness. Deserve the best their parents can give them, the best their teachers can give them. Deserve support and…a-and love, you know. Every child deserves at least one person in the world that truly loves them u-unconditionally."

Harry's voice cracked at the end, so he looked up, at those cars flitting past, to distract himself. And memories of all the times Harry hadn't been given those things all children deserve flicked through his mind. Each one represented by a bleak, black car. And those cars carried memories that constantly rode along the ashen motorways of his mind. A little like the North Circular—never ending, always operating, cyclical, and structurally degrading as more cars joined the fray.

"Even…someone like me?" Elizabeth asked, voice frail.

"Especially someone like you. Because you're special, in a magical and non-magical way."

Harry didn't even know where the words were coming from. But it was as if his mind had brewed them for eternity going back, waiting for the right moment and the right person to say them to.

Elizabeth didn't respond. At least, not at first. Instead, they both spent a considerable amount of time in a comfortable silence, the wind tickling their skin and fanning their faces, greenery fluttering with birds twittering in the distance.

And it was a while later, perhaps minutes, when Harry realised that he was…actually smiling. Smiling wide, for the first time that summer. For the first time in what felt like forever. And, because they were back to back and not facing each other, he didn't have to neutralise his real emotions.

And those cars zipping past on the road before him—they lessened in number, slowly, and before long no cars drove through the road.

"But, just cos kids deserve that," Elizabeth said. "That ain't mean they all get it, right?"

Phrased as a question—but Harry knew that they both understood the truth of her statement. Not just in their minds, but their bones. In their memories. Perhaps in their very DNA.

"Only them lucky ones," Elizabeth continued. "Only them lucky ones get whatever heaven yer talking 'bout. Or only in books and stories, which ain't real life."

"Is that why you read books? To escape?"

"Nah, not escape," Elizabeth said. "Cos I ain't dumb like them other kids at the orphanage to think there's some escape waiting somewhere to find me."

Those words penetrated Harry's chest with more vigour than he wanted to admit. And he didn't want to admit it, so he remained silent. Listening patiently, because he knew first hand that children like Elizabeth just wanted someone to listen to them, and nothing more.

"I just read cos it's like them drugs Old Grumble always chats waffle about—weed and all that. Temporary pleasure, he says. So yeah, guess reading's like me own drug in a way."

"Why does a ten-year-old know about drugs again?"

"I got peeps my age taking drugs. Like, proper smoking and everything, and I seen them fully too. Forget just knowing 'bout them, thassa pack of nuffink compared to what I seen."

Harry sighed. He'd always wanted someone to be there for him as a child, someone to talk to, to call a friend. Someone to guide him. But now he was on the other side of the conversation, he realised just how difficult it was to find the right words. Or even if the right words existed in the first place. Especially in response to a bombshell like that.

"How is living at the orphanage?" he asked. Then, realising how insensitive that could've sounded, he added, "Sorry, that's a bad que—"

"Bunch o' crap, is what I'd call it," Elizabeth interrupted. "Doubt you ever felt this way, Sneaky Harry, but it's like you're proper fighting every day of ya life. Like…ain't nuffink given to you straight, on a plate, then you get called an ingrate and get hate for no reason, it's bait. Ya feel like you're not a normal person, feel like you ain't even deserve a normal life at all."

Elizabeth sighed, at the same time as Harry. As though their hearts, at that moment, were connected by a force nothing in the world could detect outside of the two of them. They inhaled at the same time, too, then exhaled, inhaled again, and Elizabeth continued speaking.

"Ya think us kids would band togevver like pirates or summat but it ain't like that at all. More like we's fighting each other every day. Like, sometimes some family comes in looking for a kid to adopt, and everyone's fighting each other and it's so stupid and it ain't like I can get adopted anyways cos Old Grumble—"

Elizabeth stopped herself there, completely cut off, and Harry heard a light smack behind him. Likely from Elizabeth clamping a hand over her mouth. They breathed together, inhaling and exhaling a few more times, before Elizabeth levelled her voice and spoke in a neutral tone.

"But yeah, lot of fighting and it's basically shite. And not just shite, but the public toilet type shite from Old Grumble after he's eaten an Indian."

Harry snorted a laugh, then covered his mouth with a fist and disguised it as a cough. He had to remember the Battle of Minds, and try to get rid of Elizabeth back to her orphanage despite every single cell of his body urging him not to. Urging him to do what he knew was right, the way he'd done his entire life for the magical world.

The 'greater good' Dumbledore spouted off about was largely bullshit. But Harry knew—knew from his lack of parents in life—that the 'greatest good' was raising a child to contribute something to the world that you couldn't. And the universe, God, or whatever force caused the heavens to pulse above him, was offering him a chance to do just that—every sign pointed towards that, so much that even someone as obtuse as Harry couldn't miss it.

But he couldn't take it.

Wouldn't take it.

So he had to take Elizabeth back to that orphanage of hers—Frank Orwell's Orphanage.

But the words out of his mouth were different. As though sourced from a deep well in his heart only his unconscious sincerity had access to.

"Want to go shopping for clothes?"

Now, if there was one thing Harry hated more than going out in general, it was heading out to crowded places…like shopping centres…during a summer holiday when everyone and their mum, dad, grandparents, aunts, and bloody ancestors' spirits decided to go outside for a spot of buying stuff they didn't need.

And today was, well, no different.

Bright skies and shiny shimmering glass windows and Elizabeth hobbling along beside him couldn't do enough to rid the anxiety tingling across Harry's skin.

Oftentimes, his mind came up with its classic statement. You've faced off against a basilisk, death eaters, Voldemort—but a bloody crowd takes the biscuit, does it?

Sighing, Harry mixed in and around the crowds, sometimes pushing through to pave a path for Elizabeth, who would tuck in behind him. They could barely see in front of the people before them, so searching for a suitable clothes shop proved…near impossible.

Despite her sass (Harry had lost enough verbal battles to know she had an infinite amount of it), even Elizabeth shrunk into herself as crowds jostled them around. One way, then the next, as if they were lost at sea and at the mercy of the elements.

Oh, why had Harry gone and blurted out something about shopping? He had to win the Battle of Minds, not surrender himself in loss.

Harry brought Elizabeth to one side, in the only corner of Margraves Shopping Centre's first floor that was free of human presence. The overhead lighting shone into Harry's eyes, so he shielded himself with a hand, though the hum of the crowd didn't lessen one bit.

"Regret this now, dont'cha?" Elizabeth said. "I can tell you're regretting it proper now, ain't ya?"

Harry couldn't tell if she was prodding his nerves, or afraid that he'd go back on his promise.

Harry shook his head anyway. "Crowds aren't the worst thing in the world. The problem is—" Harry tipped on his toes and looked over the schools of people— "that we haven't found a store we want to go to. And that means we'll have to join the crowd and move around randomly instead of lining it for a shop."

"So whassa tactic you wanna use, then?"

Harry's brows furrowed, and he placed hand on chin. Thought hard about how to proceed, a plan of attack. This was like a Formula One race, and Harry needed the perfect turns and tight swerves to make it through unscathed. If such a thing was even possible.

Elizabeth, on the other hand, had no such thoughts. She, instead, wished to bulldoze everyone to make it through—a Ronald Weasley type approach.

"Just push'em, if ya really need to," Elizabeth said.

Harry just stared at her, wide-eyed, then pointed to the crowd. "I see about five or more six foot plus bodybuilding fanatics right there. You trying to start a fight or something?"

Elizabeth smirked. "Why not? You can take 'em out if you need."

"Yeah, take them out on a gym date, probably."

Elizabeth snorted. "I meant with magic, Silly Harry."

Harry leaned in and whispered. "You can't keep saying that out loud, you know. The magic stuff, and calling me Silly Harry."

"I s'pose I can't," Elizabeth replied. "But seriously, though, why not go to Alfie's Clothing Emporium? I've always wanted to go there."

Alfie's what-now?

Harry looked across the top of the crowd (he was rather short compared to the mountains before him, but he did get a sneak peak) and found the shop in question right at the far end of their floor. He couldn't exactly miss it, given how multi-coloured it was. Red and greens and yellows, clothes on display that showed colours that Harry didn't even know about. Not to mention glowing lights around the front glass panes that would put Hogwarts Christmas decorations to shame.

Harry was…skeptical, to say the least.

"You sure you want to go somewhere like that?" Harry asked, turning to face Elizabeth again. "It looks like more of a circus than anything else. Do you want a clown costume?"

"I think it'd suit you more than me," Elizabeth said. "But nah, I wanna get the crazy shoes they have. And maybe some t-shirts. And—oooh—those dresses were well cool the last time I saw 'em. Old Grumble ain't bring us to places like that for clothes."

"Where does he get clothes from, then?" Harry asked, although he knew at the back of his mind that it couldn't be anywhere good, judging from the state of Elizabeth's dress.

"Don't even know," Elizabeth said. "Probably some bin, judgin' by some other kids in Frank Orwell's Dungeon."

Harry would've pointed out that Elizabeth looked worse for wear, too. But that urge was overpowered by the will to buy out the entire shop for her—Harry had the funds to, after all. Large inheritance sitting unused in his Gringotts vault, not to mention the money he'd converted into pounds for cash in hand—

Harry was basically the most eligible young bachelor in the entirety of the magical world.

Witch Weekly, of course, made that a startlingly clear point. In every single issue. Since the war had ended. To their fans. Ranging from teens to witches in their seventies.

Not that Harry read the rubbish, of course. But Ginny did. And she told Ron. And Ron found a way to tell Harry. In numerous letters.

One of which Harry hadn't replied to yet. Sitting on his bedside desk.

Crap. Another thing to think about. In addition to the bright lights of Alfie's Clothing Emporium calling him over.

God, when was he going to get his bloody life in order?

"Oi, ya listening or not?" Elizabeth suddenly said, dragging Harry out of his own head and into the real world. "I been talking for some time, y'know."

"Sorry about that." Harry scratched his head, then glanced to the crowd again. Still swirling like a school of fish underwater. Maybe Harry and Elizabeth needed to be the sharks to scatter them apart.

Now, wasn't that a fun thought?

"All right, since you're so scared of the…gung-ho approach," Elizabeth said, staring up at him with something between a cheeky grin and a smirk. "I guess we'll have t'follow me own strategy."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "And that is…"

This time it was a properly cheeky smirk. Elizabeth clearly, rather obviously, knew some secret tactic that Harry didn't—

"This way!" she exclaimed.

Elizabeth grabbed Harry's jacket by the sleeve and tugged as hard as she could. Harry, of course, was too heavy to budge—but he found his legs moving anyway, following Elizabeth through the crowd. Letting her take the lead in this impossible, near Herculean task of navigating the crowd.

Yet Elizabeth somehow knew which way to turn, swivel, duck—and dragged Harry along for the ride. Exhilarating…strangely the most alive Harry had felt in so long. He recalled another time where he'd—

Gone on a school trip, back in year two, and Dudley was in the same group as him, and the kids had been let free in the playground area of the museum, but the entrance to that area was a tiny door and they all scrambled to get through, and Harry had stayed back to avoid the crush but Dudley pushed him into the crowd, and Harry had been jostled and kicked and hurt and he couldn't breathe and there was nothing he could do except—

Hold onto Elizabeth's fingers with his sleeve, and breathe in excitement rather than fear, and let those happy chemicals pump themselves around his blood as the magical miracle in front of him led the way to Alfie's Clothing Emporium.

As he stared at her starry hair shining brighter than a supernova, Harry hadn't a clue just how far in life this ten year old girl would lead him.

"This place is…honestly amazing," Harry breathed, staring wide eyed at Alfie's Clothing Emporium, now that they were actually inside and not in the midst of a crowd. "Like…"

Harry was, well and truly, speechless. How hadn't he seen this before, anywhere?

Of course, Elizabeth wasn't speechless. Harry didn't think anything existed in the world that could make her lost for words…ever, probably.

In any case, Alfie's Clothing Emporium was as eccentric as a shop got, reminding Harry of Fred and George's joke shop, which was now run as more of a family business with Ron joining the ranks, as well as Molly adding some touches to the products.

The clothes at the front weren't just for show—every aisle of the store (aisles that seemed never ending, mind you) was filled with multi-coloured delight. Jackets and shirts that a Stephen King villain would be proud of, not to mention fantasy robes straight out of The Hobbit.

In fact, as smells of fresh fabrics wafted around them, Elizabeth pulled Harry by the arm towards those fancy robes and begged him to try one on.

"Please please please! I just wanna see what ya look like, thas'all."

"And have a good laugh at my expense," Harry said, folding his arms.

"Well…yeah, that too, 'course."

Well, the whole shopping trip was Harry's expense, so he didn't mind this one either.

The robe was made of a strange material, something between leather and a softer fabric. Harry ran it through his fingers, letting it comfort his skin, then took his jacket off and asked Elizabeth to hold it. She did so without a word whilst Harry slipped on the fancy fantasy robe, all black from collar to hem.

He turned to find a mirror, conveniently placed. And the man staring back at him, in that mirror, wearing that robe was—

"Hilarious!" Elizabeth laughed, almost keeling over from her laughter. "Ya look like someone who's 'bout to bow down before some fantasy king or summat. Hero of the land type clothing, thas'what you have on now."

"If only you knew," Harry muttered beneath his breath, but he smiled anyway. Because anything that made Elizabeth happy seemed to lift Harry's spirits, too.

It took Elizabeth considerable time (far too long if you asked Harry) to calm her giggles, before Harry told her to pick out clothes for herself. They were here for her, after all, and it weren't like Harry needed clothes any more than he needed money.

They strolled to the kids section, and Elizabeth transformed into a kind of butterfly fluttering between racks in every aisle, floating around and trying different things on. Particularly things that had different colours splashed onto them, as though they were trying to be as different as possible. Harry held a basket in hand, and plopped quite literally everything Elizabeth said she liked into it without thinking.

Of course, Elizabeth never asked to buy anything. Harry knew her thoughts—don't ask for anything, cos you'll never get it. He'd thought the same thoughts as a child on the rare occasions an adult showed him kindness.

He also knew of another feeling, of a quiet desperation within Elizabeth that wished for this time to never end. That wished for the moments of today, from the library to the café to this clothing store, to last forever.

Harry knew the feeling well, because he'd once—

Sat in the park by himself whilst Dudley played around with his mates on the football pitch in the distance. They'd gotten tired of chasing him, and left Harry alone now on a bench. And a middle-aged woman named Amanda Shillings, a rather strange name, sat beside Harry. And spoke to him like he was a normal person, like he wasn't the freak his family branded him as. She was the only person who'd ever spoken to him like that, and Harry had felt that desperation within himself…mentally begging for the moment of joy to never cease, so—

When Elizabeth turned around to show him a pair of clown-like sunglasses she liked, Harry could do nothing but laugh with her as she made goofy faces. And when she placed it back on the shelf, Harry quickly dropped it into the basket without another word.

Surely Elizabeth didn't believe that Harry would take her shopping for clothes and then never actually buy her anything. What kind of monster would bait and switch a child like that? Especially a child as vulnerable as Elizabeth, who lived in an orphanage and wore a dress more holey than the Bible.

Then again, when Harry was a child, he'd likely thought the same of that Amanda Shilling who'd chatted with him in the park and made him feel normal. Elizabeth feeling the same way was par for the course.

"Why don't you try this on?" Harry asked moments later, when they were in an aisle filled with colourful sundresses, perfect for the summer weather they were having. In fact, Harry found one sundress that looked exactly the same as what Elizabeth was wearing now. Except this one was new, intact, material not worn and torn to bits, and looked about the right size for her.

"Well, it ain't like I'm actually buyin' it, y'know," Elizabeth said, twiddling her thumbs, looking down at her ragged shoes—something else Harry needed to get her. "So there ain't a point of wastin' time trying it on in the changing rooms."

"You're here to have fun, right? So give it a go, why don't you?"

Elizabeth looked dubious when she glanced at Harry. And that look reminded Harry of the Battle of Minds—he was trying to get rid of Elizabeth, and yet here he was buying her clothes and encouraging her to pick out different ones.

What was he doing? Why was he attaching himself to someone else when all he wanted to do was curl into a ball and be left alone?

Armed with nothing to defend against the heat-seeking thoughts in his mind, Harry stood outside the changing rooms with the basket in hand (copy of The Hobbit resting in the basket) whilst Elizabeth changed into the sundress.

And not a second had passed before a woman who appeared to work at the store approached Harry. (At least, he thought she worked at the store, since the uniform was as multi-coloured and eccentric as anything else in Alfie's Clothing Emporium.) She didn't look threatening, but the narrowing of her eyes told Harry she wasn't here to recommend him a new perfume line they had in stock.

"Sorry to bother you, sir, but there's been suspicions around your involvement with the child accompanying you today, the little girl."

Uhh…what?

Were they accusing him of being a—

Harry didn't even want to think about it. Not for a second. Because the thought horrified him. Instead, he returned his mind to the woman who worked at the store. His heart rate rising for fear of what they were about to accuse him of.

"What's the problem?" he said, voice coming out far more aggressive than he meant it, almost territorial.

"We'd just like to ask you a few questions, if that's all right."

Harry glanced behind her and saw another clerk in the distance on the landline, calling someone. Calling who? The police? MI5? Or just making a regular call, to an accountant or supplier or something?

"But she's my daughter," Harry blurted out.

And a gasp rang out from his right.

When he turned, Elizabeth was staring straight at him.

Elizabeth's Mental Diary

Yep, this part's 'bout me own mental diary. Ya really thought Silly Harry would take this whole story t'himself, did you? That's a silly thought just as silly as that man himself. N'he's plenty silly, trust me.

Anyways, now that I've taken over for a little bit, wow has this day been the maddest in a long, long time!

By the way, mad here ain't talking 'bout getting angry or nuffink. More like amazing, or fantastical, or summat like that. You want real anger, go find Old Grumble when a kid ain't listen to what he says.

Oh, and I'm magical. Pretty magical itself, that. Pretty and magical, I'd say.

Who woulda thought it, eh? And it ain't some fake crap either, but real. Silly Harry even showed me that magic wand of his, and the coffee was actually warm again. Ain't cold like before.

And also, I got a few hits on Old Grumble's ugly arse face at the library. Felt good t'get that out me system, trust me. Been wishing for years I could sock him an extra special serving of revenge.

It's definitely gonna be awkward if I ever have t'go back there, it is.

And Silly Harry helped me for some reason. I ain't know why, and it scares me a little, let me be honest for a sec.

Like…this whole day's been like some dream. Honestly, it feels like I'll wake up soon and realise it was all a bunch of baloney, a bunch of nuffink.

But it's real as this new sundress I got over my shoulders and down to me knees.

But issit as real as what Silly Harry said outside—that I'm his daughter? Where the heck did he get that from?

Maybe this is when I wake up from the dream, cos ain't no way he properly means that.

But I close me eyes once, twice, and see the same woman talking to Harry. And Harry say the words again. And heck, his voice sounds even stronger this time round.

But if he's telling the truth or nah—I guess that remains t'be seen.

Can't get me hopes up too much. They been crushed before. More times than I can count on me fingers.

Even if I had ten hands and an eleventh behind me back.

A/N: Well, got that second chapter done a lot more quickly than I'd imagined. Thankfully, I finished a novel of original fiction, and copyediting that allowed more time to write fanfic, so here I am.

Hope you all enjoyed, especially that Elizabeth mental diary at the end (let me know if you'd like it to be a regular thing, since it's hella fun for me to write entirely from her voice). Comment/review your thoughts. I always love reading them and responding where I can.

And as always, thanks for reading!