'Dear Mister Black,

I have heard from friends and caring ones, though they didn't actually know I was listening, not that that matters much to me, that you are out to kill me. It is for that reason that I am glad to challenge you to a duel between Hero of profession and foul criminal. Or do you prefer 'Dark Overlord's Evil Right Hand'? Let me know in your answer, I wouldn't want to offend you before I slice your head clean off your shoulders.

Anyway, before we fight, could we, like, have a little talk, you know, to tell me why on earth you betrayed your best friends and turned Dark? I found that the only reason available so far is your being raised by notoriously Dark people, but I myself have been raised by overgrown bullies and I much prefer elbow dropping bullies than bullying people myself.

Please do not murder this owl, it is not even mine.

With great hopes for your answer,

Harry Potter, your Godson'

And that was how Harry ended up discovering the full story of his parent's deaths. It never occured to him how the story could have been fabricated, after all it did perfectly fit a Hero's background, so he had no reason not to fully accept it with a smile.

Anyway, all he had to do was go and get redhead's half-dead rat to be certain, meanwhile he simply had to keep a hand close to Gryffindor's Sword and all would be fine.

-o-O-o-

"Why won't you die!" Harry screamed, weakening, his breath freezing before his eyes, while he kept slicing and stabbing at the cloaked figure before him.

Finally, the immortal thing grabbed his head with both black and withered hands, and leaned in as if to Kiss Harry.

A bright light slowly emerged from the unconscious boy's limp and open mouth and, while nobody was close enough to notice it, a small, darker fragment of the light separated itself from the rest of it and flew slightly faster to the rasply sucking beast's head, for it was hard to call the hole in the thing a mouth.

Then, a silver light ran across the corridor, pushing the monster away. Unseen again, the darker light was absorbed by the demon while the brighter part flew back to Harry. It was only days later that Harry woke up, in the Hospital Wing, and still feeling weak from the ordeal he'd been through.

It turned out that many experts had been wondering at the state his soul would be in, since never had someone been saved so close to a completed Dementor's Kiss. While he was out, Sirius Black had also been officially freed, Peter Pettigrew succesfully Kissed, and Black was also appointed Harry's magical guardian.

Not a bad way to wake up, really.

-o-O-o-

Harry was bored. Bored! For a year, nothing happened! Nothing!

What's a Hero supposed to do in times of peace? Train? Even that got boring after a few months. If not for Sirius Black, it would have been a horrible year... Thank Merlin for escaped convicts; what would I do without you?

Summer had come though, and hopefully the next year would make up for this... this pathetic attempt at an eventful year in a Hero's life.

-o-O-o-

I should have read up on that Sword a long time ago, Harry mused as he practiced summoning it into his hand. The Sword's true master could actually will it to himself from any distance, a practical and practically unwardable against move.

It really was too bad that the police would intervene if a teenager was seen chasing bullies while wielding a Medieval sword in the neighborhood, though it did help him practice his unarmed moves. Knee-cap-kicking, head-butting, elbow-dropping, eye-out-of-the-socket-popping, all of them very useful techniques.

He stopped summoning the sword for a moment, a thought suddenly striking his keen mind; the Sword didn't use a regular Summoning Charm, so maybe... just maybe...

Harry stretched forward his hand, the Sword proudly held in his fist. He then focused and, with a slight jerking motion of his hand, sent it forward; it entered his bedroom's wall, which would certainly leave a mark, but still: he'd done it!

Only weeks later, Harry was having fun making Gryffindor's Sword fly around his room without even looking at it anymore. This was so cool, and it would certainly have been useful in the past. Well, no regrets, he was still alive, wasn't he?

-o-O-o-

"What do you mean, 'get to the woods'?" Harry asked, apparently baffled by the adults' words.

"Those people are Death Eaters, we have to run!" was the answer that was generally agreed upon, and shouted by most present in the space between the two tents.

"My point exactly! You go where you want, and I'll run too, though of course it'll be straight into the bad guys," he firmly replied to his panicked company, before turning on his feet and walking toward the screams.

"But you can't use magic!" screamed Neville.

Harry's hand rose in the air. Not ten seconds later, a gleaming, ruby-encrusted sword flew into it. He slightly turned his head around: "Who needs magic?"

At first, the Death Eaters thougth they were under a Charms Master's attack, which the flying and quite skilled in the dismembering and impaling areas sword seemed to indicate.

Then, Lucius Malfoy's kneecap was bent in the wrong way, and everyone faced the wrath of a wrestling thirteen year old Professional Hero, with cursing the small maniac rendered risky because of the still-rampaging Sword of Doom.

It took the Aurors several minutes before they could stop Harry Potter's slaughter, and they weren't even able to convict him for anything since none could prove it was him who had controlled the Sword around. Indeed, whenever a spell was cast to identify its Master, it pointed to a random person, and once to a famous Herbologist known for his hatred toward violence and who died in 1675.

After the investigation revealed that Harry had only wounded, though sometimes quite severely, people who were being a threat to his person at the time, he was released with a pamphlet on reacting appropriately to violence (This thing lies! Why should I flee, negociate or contact the authorities? That's for... common citizens, not heroes. Especially not professional ones).

-o-O-o-

"What do you mean, 'Contestants must be of age?' Do you see a single Professional Hero of age around here? I think not!" Harry raged aloud in the Hall.

Not one apart from the first years and Mad-Eye Moody was surprised by the outburst, some having even predicted it before it happened, since Harry had made his Hero status quite clear in the previous years, what with wielding a legendary sword and telling the tales of his epic adventures in front of the fire in the cold nights of the Gryffindor Common Room.

Dumbledore turned to Harry: "I am quite certain that your thirst for epic adventures will be satisfied as always, my boy," he reassured with a smile. Dumbledore, when he managed getting past the confusing aspect of the young Gryffinfor, had grown quite fond of him.

"I'd better, otherwise you'll hear of me!" he answered hotly, already trying to think of ways he could get past the Age Line.

Actually, it couldn't be too hard... the Sword was over eight hundred years old, wasn't it?

-o-O-o-

"What do you mean, 'I'm going to cast the Imperius Curse on all of you'? I'm not taking part in this evil plot to rid the world of its latest, and I should say most awesome so far, Professional Hero!"

Mad-Eye, again, had the confused look he'd gotten every time he'd tried speaking with the boy.

"Why do you think I'm evil?" he asked innocently.

"I think it's quite obvious. The creepy scars, the creepy eye, the creepy teaching methods, the fact that you're new here, the cursed position, the evil curse; doesn't need any more explaining."

"Imperio!"

"Imperio!"

"Imperio!"

"Damn it, stop blocking with that sword of yours, Potter!"

He did not, for the man, when he attacked Harry without warning with a potentially evil spell, lost every single ounce of trust Harry had left in him.

-o-O-o-

"What do you mean, 'Two Harry Potter's are competing'?" was Karkaroff's angry reaction to the situation.

"The Goblet lies not, my esteemed colleague, and Harry's name came out of it twice tonight. Therefore, he will participate twice to the Tournament," Dumbledore calmly explained. Regular interactions with Harry had left him quite immune to confusion and he fully intended to take advantage of this new ability.

"How are we going to do this?" asked Madame Maxime in her distorted English.

"I believe Harry will have to compete twice, as I said; my diasgnotic spells show that he is twice bound to the Cup, and I fear he will have to participate as if he were two different contestants, else he may suffer the consequences of disrespecting the magical contract."

There was silence in the room, with everyone except Dumbledore and Harry utterly confused, the latter was beaming of course.

"Why would the child even enter himself twice? And how did he get past the defenses?" Karkaroff asked.

A shiny blade flew under Karkaroff's chin before he could blink.

"I am not a child. I am a Professional Hero."

Looking down, the Headmaster of Durmstrang saw there was a contact card on the sword's side. He politely pocketed it and the flying weapon sheathed itself on Harry's side.

"As I was saying, how and why did he enter himself twice?" he started again.

"I only entered myself once, and don't know who put my name in the second time, though I ought to thank him. I'm half the competition by myself!"

Everyone ignored him, because as long as the sword was out of sight he was still a child to them, the grown-ups who had faced less evil and righted less wrongs than Harry had in his admittedly shorter but more action-packed life. Dumbledore continued.

"I suspect a powerful and, I shall say, rather obscure variety of the Confunfus Charm must have been employed for the second time. Harry, how did you enter yourself, by the way?"

"Put the piece of paper on the Sword, flew it above the Cup, and dropped it in. Apparently the Sword is considered its own person, or a part of Hogwarts maybe, because it worked."

"Well, this meeting is, I believe, over!" Dumbledore exclaimed, still unfazed by the unusual situation.

The others obediently followed him out, still confused the hell out of their minds.

-o-O-o-

"What do you mean, 'I challenge you to a duel to the death'?" Draco asked, apparently still not aware of Harry's views on how to deal with evil bastards; his policy dictated that a headless bastard was just as evil but definitely less of threat than a headed one.

"Your 'Potter Stinks' badges. They are an insult to my honor, and I have decided to defend myself. Refuse the duel and it is your honor that will be tainted by cowardice, instead of mine by slander," he calmly explained. Gryffindor's Sword was silently hovering behind Draco's head in case of a surprise attack, a strategy he was sad to discover he could not use on Moody since the evil professor could see behing him with his creepy eye.

"I'm not dueling you, you fight with a magical sword that stops everything I'll cast at it! It's not like anybody will know I refused the duel anyway."

"I'm recording this conversation."

"You what? Know what, if you fight without the sword, then I'll duel you!" the blond replied theatrically, as if he'd solved a mystery that had puzzled humanity for decades.

"Of course, I don't even have it on me!"

And so they dueled.

"Stop dodging, Muggle lover!" Croc "That was my knee!" complained Draco after letting out a loud whimpering sound.

"I know," a not even sweating Harry replied.

"My father will hear of this, Potter! And call Madam pomfrey if you have any darn honor!"

"I've already sent an owl to your father to let him know his father was bested by muggle fighting, and Madam Pomfrey's on her way. Have a good hospitalization, Draco. And please burn the badges."

Harry then unceremonially left an outraged and collapsed Draco Malfoy behind him. It was a good day.

-o-O-o-

"Imperio!" shouted Moody in the corridor.

Harry had the Sword block the spell. "You can stop trying that, professor."

"Damn you, Potter!"

-o-O-o-

"What do you mean, 'I'll have to Obliviate you, Harry'?" asked a distrusting Harry.

Dumbledore sighed. "You will technically have to be present at the Wand Weighing Ceremony, twice! The only way we've found so far was to have you attend it a first time, Obliviate you of it, send you back in time a few hours using a Time-Turner, have you attend it a second time, then restore the memories." Harry frowned. "Listen, I'll even sign a Magical Contract to prove I'm honest. Is that alright with you?"

"I guess it'll do," was the dissatisfied answer Harry gave his Headmaster. He was quite curious about meeting himself, but he wasn't looking forward to the Obliviation, so it had better be a very nice meeting he had with himself.

Dumbledore also informed him they would have to repeat the strategy for each Task so he didn't know what was ahead of him the second time he went through them.

-o-O-o-

"What do you mean, 'I'm your senior so I get the best pictures'?" Harry-1 asked.

Harry-2 shrugged smugly, "Obviously I'm older than you are; that makes me the Senior Hero here, so step aside, youngling, and let the professionals handle the papers."

Harry-1 growled, not intending to be bested by that arrogant fool, and drew the Sword-1, only for it to meet Sword-2. In the end, all reporters diverted their attention and cameras away from the other Champions to witness and document this epic fight between two National Heroes, each wielding a legendary weapon. The fact that both the weapon and the fighter were technically affronting themselves only made it better.

In the end, both Harry's chopped the other's sword-arm off, thus ending the fight on a half-epic-half-pathetic note, since both collapsed from blood loss simultaneously and Madam Pomfrey rushed in, faster than it would have been thought possible, to repair her students. Student. Students. Who knows?

When both had their respective limb reattached, and the healer had great care not switching the arms or one would have been caught in a time-loop resulting in the arm infinitely and instantenously aging, which they did not want, Harry-1 was Obliviated, sent back in time - to have his arm cut off once again - along with a note that automatically flew to the Hospital Wing once the time travel was completed.

Harry-2 was instead kept in the Hospital Wing until he had completely recovered from losing the same arm twice in a row, and went on with his life, still contemplating the day's events with fondness. I guess a Hero does not do 'simple'...

-o-O-o-

"What do you mean, 'Harry will have to face a dragon, twice'?" A most irate Hermione demanded of her esteemed Headmaster.

"You know exactly what I mean, Miss Granger, and you should also know Harry is up to the task; I have no doubt the Goblet was right to choose him as Hogwarts Champion, not counting whoever made the thing believe there was a fourth unnamed school exclusively attended by Harry Potter... The point is, he'll be alright. You need to have faith in him."

And, once she discarded rational thinking, she found that she did have faith in him. So did Dumbledore, but that was because he'd learned to toss any kind of rationality aside when he had to deal with the Boy-Who-Lived.

-o-O-o-

"Hogwarts Champion, Harry Potter!" the announcer bellowed with already his Sonorus'd voice.

The youngest contestant of the Tournament stepped out of the tent to face his Norwegian Ridgeback and steal its precious eggs. Yes, Dragons do love their treasures, don't they?

He made his way to a rock he could easily climb and, when the ground stopped shaking with the crowd's powerful cheers, he slowly raised his head to face the worthy opponent before him.

Suddenly, he jumped forward, bringing his right arm to the air in the same movement; a moment before hitting the ground, Gryffindor's ruby-encrusted golden Sword flew into his hand.

The spectators held their breaths.

Harry rushed straight toward the Dragon, the monster slowly inhaling in preparation for releasing a devastating inferno of magical fire. Harry only kept running forward, having already covered half the arena in his mad dash.

As the Ridgeback brutally lurched forward, unleashing a cone of hot death in front of it, Harry pointed his wand to the ground, shouting "Bombarda!", leveling the ground in front of him, and leaping in the trench, concealed by the cloud of dust.

The fire breathed over him, nearly marking his skin from a distance, though none could see that. Whispers broke into the spectator stands, all wondering whether or not they'd seen the last of Hogwart's resident Hero and twice Triwizard Champion.

Then a wind emerged from the arena itself, moving and controlling the dust. It progressively glided, sideways and forward, until the Ridgeback attempted to fry the confusing phenomenon, when it started going skyward; then, bruised, his clothes singed and dirt nearly encrusted into his skin, Harry emerged from it, diving under the flames.

Again the heat hurt him without him touching it, but he kept running forward, taking advantage of the fire preventing the beast from seeing him. He rushed around the Dragon and grabbed the Golden Egg, but had to swing back with the Sword to prevent the Ridgeback from clawing his back off.

As he ran away, the Dragon attempted to burn him for the third time, though Harry only had to get back in his hastily dug trench to survive. Casting a second Bombarda to distract the monster for a second, he started running again and reached the other side of the arena unharmed.

The crowd cheered him on, and Madam Pomfrey was able to quickly heal the entirety of his minor injuries. But he wasn't done, no sir.

Once fully healed and dressed in new robes, Harry made his way to Dumbledore, slightly scowling, and waited for the old man to do his part of the job.

"Obliviate."

Rid of all the memories of his first run, with only a slight ache in his muscle to remind him of the effort, he reentered the arena, this time to face a Hungarian Horntail, known as the most brutal and vicious Dragon alive.

He took in the arena's condition, slowly walking around the back of the closed and warded space, out of reach for the beast. Only when his new plan was fully formed did he lift his chin to look his foe in the eye.

"Here it comes."

He took a step forward.

"Today's the day."

Another step.

"I've been waiting a long time for this."

The Dragon let out a deep, threatening growl.

"The crowning achievement..."

There was a hissing sound in the air.

"... of a true Hero!"

Harry started running up the highest rock, jumped forward to a fall that could break his legs, and his feet touched the engraved blade of Gryffindor's Sword in mid-air. The weapon, ridden by its master like a flying skateboard, flew at fightening speeds to the Horntail, the beast more than a little taken aback by this turn of events.

Harry easily dodged the first, large burst of angry flames, not a single strand of the lethal magic licking his robes; the mind-controlled Sword was being an excellent vehicle to its Master, and quickly they were high above the enraged beast.

Harry, without hesitation, released his mental hold on the Sword and grabbed it with both hands instead; he plummeted to the Dragon's head and, before he could land in its gaping maw, brought the legendary blade into its skull.

There was a huge spurt of blood, a soul-scarring shreek, and it was over.

The young Hero calmly walked back to the Medical tent, Golden Egg under his arm, no expression on his face, leaving a mad crowd to scream their excitement behind him. It was a good day.

-o-O-o-

In the merrily decorated Great Hall, the atmosphere was light and heartening; the dancers openly laughed their enjoyment of the show, parted to leave most of the dance floor available to Harry, Hermione, Harry, and Fleur.

The four dancers were engaged in a mesmerizing dance, twirling around, occasionally trading partners, so Hermione and Fleur sometimes danced with each other while the two Harry's play-fenced with the Swords.

Both Heroes were dressed in matching, though different, outfits, designed to go with the legendary weapons. The old-school formal robes flew as their wearers moved to the music, and the four had the time of their lives.

Fleur, especially, had never expected such a leetle boy to slay dragons and be the star attraction of the night, and she certainly did not regret accepting his invitation to the Ball. Hermione, on the other hand, was ecstatic to be Harry's 'main' date for the night, even more so considering the other date was the most gorgeous girl she'd ever seen.

-o-O-o-

The two Harry's bemusedly watched the two other Champions pull off magical feats and diving with only the tiniest hint of a plan, while they produced two long ropes from their expanded pockets. They tied it around their waists with care, not hurrying, then raised their hands.

As usual, the Swords flew into them in a matter of seconds, and the Harry's, without casting a single spell, and actually not doing anything that might have allowed them to survive underwater, pointed them at the Black Lake's depths before making them rush downward.

The two were pulled into the water at breakneck speeds, merely holding their breaths while they passed the disbelieving other Champions.

Not fifteeen seconds later they reached the hostages, and the Swords danced around the Merpeople's set-up, cutting all the ropes and freeing all of the hostages in three seconds. Meanwhile, the Harry's had been waving their wands to have the rest of their own ropes tie themselves around the waists of the hostages, Hermione, Krum's date to the Ball, and a little girl who could only be Fleur's sister.

It's not truly heroic if there isn't a damsel in distress.

Fifteen seconds later, the five were breaking the surface of the Lake for the second time in under a minute, the first Harry holding Hermione in his arms while the other had the young Delacour and Krum's date.

The Heroes stepped into the Medical tent, one to be Obliviated and sent back in Time, not that it would change anything to the plan he'd conceived days beforehand, the other to collapse: it was bad for the head to go up and down deep Lakes at such high speeds. Twice.

-o-O-o-

The two Harry's smiled at each other, not the slightest bit nervous, while Fleur and Viktor looked weirdly at the two younger Champions. They knew they had no reason to be afraid, what with the ease with which they taken care of the first tasks.

The first Harry was cleared to enter the Maze, but he only waited for his counterpart to be called, and then the two confidently walked in.

-o-O-o-

It hadn't been that hard, really:

Step 1: Try to deal with the obstacle.

Step 2: In case of failure, use Sword.

Step 3: Walk to the next obstacle.

"You grab the Cup, I'll go become you while you do that," Harry-1 suggested.

Harry-2 nodded and, after a brotherly backclap, grabbed a handle of the Triwizard Cup and promptly disappeared, his Sword strangely clattering to the ground instead of accompanying its Master.

The remaining Harry held his breath as the hedges slowly retreated into the ground to signify the end of the Task; everyone was looking expectantly at him, waiting for an explanation considering his other self's whereabouts. Only, he had no idea.

Panic settled. Harry had disappeared, and it was even worse for Harry-1 who didn't know how this could make sense. If he was going to disappear when he time travelled and they knew it, why Obliviate him and send him back in the first place?

To preserve the timeline? A Hero is not afraid of Time, if he has to brave it to survive and save the world again, he will, and without hesitation too.

The wait was excruciating, but finally the abandoned Sword flew into the sky and someone spotted it, shouting "He's this way!" at the other Harry; stepping on his own version of the weapon he started flying in the same direction, though not as fast because of the added weight.

-o-O-o-

Once the Portkey had dropped him to the ground, and Harry executed his well-practiced most graceful landing, but before he could even start to take his surroundings in, a whispered Stupefy struck him in the back.

Harry woke up to witness a horrible ritual, the sacrifice of bone, flesh, and blood, his blood, bringing Lord Voldemort, Evil Overlord, back from the not-so-dead.

"Harry Potter... They praise your heroics beyond the borders of this country, and yet..."

Voldemort lightly touched Harry's scar, momentarily wondering why the boy wasn't screaming out loud in pain.

"And yet here you are. Defenseless, tied up, at my mercy... and I shall have none. Avada -"

When Harry tilted his head to the side, the Dark Lord first thought he was trying to avoid the Killing Curse.

Instead, his Muggle father's headstone was pierced by a sharp blade where the brat's head had been a moment before. Even with ritual-enhanced reflexes and the speed of a Master Duellist, Voldemort could only barely escape death, even a momentary one.

Gryffindor's Sword did deeply slice open his jaw, filling his mouth with the coppery taste of blood, then flew right through Barty Crouch Jr's throat, and the fight started.

Voldemort flinging curses and commanding both his environment and conjurations to attack the artifact; the Sword flying around its opponent, dodging, reflecting curses and slicing right through physical aggressions.

None was able to land a true hit on the other for nearly a minute, and the unlikely fight continued. Harry had the Sword purposefully deflect a curse straight into his binds, and he ignored the pain of the magic that had lightly affected him while he struggled to get out of the damaged rope.

Finally he was able to break free, and ran straight at Voldemort to force him to face two opponents instead of one. The Dark Lord saw him coming coming and kicked him with great strength in the gut, stopping his advance. However, to do that he had to turn his attention away from the flying weapon, and his mistake cost him the thumb of his wand hand.

Harry commanded the Sword to come back to him, and the duel started anew: a hurt Voldemort having trouble using his wand as well as he used to with an incomplete hand, and a fourteen year old holding his own with a sword against a purely magical onslaught.

After a few moments it became obvious to the two that they were only wearing each other out, yet before Voldemort could attempt to change his strategy, a loud cry echoed in the sky, and a second Harry tore through the air, sword drawn, into the Dark Lord, whose shield barely stopped the blow from destroying his mortal body.

Then it was two on one, and even Nagini's attempt at aiding its Master against his orders to stay safe resulted in the snake's quick and mercifully painless death. The Dark Lord was regretting his decision to use an anti-Apparition ward on the entire area, for he would have needed seconds to break it, even though it was his own.

When his attempts at defending his newly resurrected body started becoming desperate, he managed stepping back twice in a row without having to deflect a blow and, through the blood that filled his mouth and ran down his body, incanted a curse that required speech to be cast: "Avada Kedavra."

The long incantation allowed Harry-1 to take Voldemort's entire left arm in an epic leap forward Sword-first while Harry-2 blocked the Killing Curse with his own Sword: there was a small explosion and all three were thrown back, hard. When they stood back up, a dent had been formed in the otherwise flawless blade, though before the fight could start again, the words were heard for the second time: "Avada Kedavra."

Only this time, the curse was dodged and, not ten seconds later, Voldemort was overwhelmed, both arms chopped off, wand snapped, stunned, bound, and stunned again for good measure.

-o-O-o-

At Hogwarts, panic was still the better word to describe the state of the crowd, everyone afraid for their Champion - Champions? -'s safety. Not many had understood that the mere fact that Harry had had the opportunity and the will to go back in time ensured he'd come back safe and sound, and in fact, the one and only person who wasn't panicking at all was Albus Dumbledore.

The Hogwarts Headmaster was sipping a cup of tea he'd had an also panicked House Elf bring him, still sitting while everyone else was frantically rushing about, demanding answers and seeking reassurance. He had faith in Harry, so it was barely a surprise to him when the two of him came back, riding their Swords, with a half-dead Voldemort between them and the Cup in a bundle of cloth. Barely.

In the end, Dumbledore transfigured the defeated Dark Lord into a hat and wore him while he sought out the Prize money and handed it to Harry-2, whose memory he restored. He then gave Harry-1 a mild Pepper-Up potion, Obliviated him and sent him back in time, comforted in the knowledge that it would all turn out for the best.

Really, it wasn't that hard to deal with Harry. All it took was a little detachment, then you could sit back and enjoy the show.

-o-O-o-

A/N: I think this is the end of this fic, transfigured Voldie will have trouble dominating the world once Dumbledore dumps him in a Fidelius'd chest filled with Draught of the Living Death and sends him into outer space, and I don't think a Horcrux-Hunt would be fun to write/read.

For the moment I'll keep working on my first novel-length fic, though don't expect me to update twice a week like I did a few times: I've already lost (damn you USB key!) my first draft of the next chapter, and I've started med school, so free time's gonna get scarce, I tell ya.

Hope you liked what I wrote, please review/fav and recommend :) Remember to PM me for questions, suggestions and discussions, and see you next time!