"Uh…what?" Harry asked, blinking stupidly. "Are…are you serious?"

Luna Lovegood blinked up at him with her large grey eyes, then hummed in realization. "Oh, my apologies, I meant to ask if you wanted to get to know each other," she gave him a beaming smile. "My thoughts have been so jumbled recently, I've been so excited. I've waited to hear from you for a long time."

"Oh," the scrawny tit with the nice glasses scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, I just sort of found out about all that-"

"I know," she cut in, her voice light and airy. "I received your copied letter from the post. I thought it was very nice of you draw a Longevity rune so that we could keep it. I framed mine."

"You did?" Harry asked faintly.

Luna nodded cheerfully, stroking the snowy owl still sitting on her shoulder. "Along with your first letter to me, specifically. Did you like my response? I hope I didn't leave any details out, I can be very poor at that." She shrugged, Hedwig bobbing with the gesture. "Would you like to show me around? I've never been in an entirely muggle neighborhood before. It's quite fascinating."

The young Potter couldn't possibly see how Privet Drive, with all its houses built and stamped from the same mould, could be anything other than dreadfully boring. "Sure, Luna. Er, how did you find me?" He wondered if the whole 'hiding among the muggles' thing actually worked or not. Rita found him easily, and now so had Luna. There was a wide gap in age and ability, there, but they'd still done it.

"I asked Hedwig, silly," she replied, the Snowy owl barking in confirmation. "She's a very lovely owl, though a bit out of place here." Hedwig clicked her beak and picked at Luna's light-blonde locks as if she was brushing them, then fluttered over to Harry and nibbled his ear.

He looked at her in confusion, and his owl pecked his nose and barked, taking off through the house and flying into his room, leaving the two alone. "So let's just…go then," Harry said awkwardly, stepping out of #4. What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to act? Is this…is this a Date?!

The airy girl nodded in agreement, slipping an arm around his. "I find that's the best way to start," she whispered confidentially, "Just go. Don't wait for later. Don't say tomorrow today, just do it."

The last Potter found he had nothing to say, and only nodded in agreement. She'd made a good point, but the way she said it left him confused. Directing his attention to what they were supposed to be doing, i.e. walking around, he said, "This is Privet Drive," gesturing at the house around them. "Wisteria Walk is a few streets down north, and Magnolia is around the next corner."

Luna hummed in acknowledgement, casting her large grey eyes at the stamped out houses around them while she skipped slowly, alternating between skipping after every third step and after every second step randomly. Seeing how she had her attention elsewhere, Harry took the time to examine her fully. He would've done it at #4, but her eyes had captured his attention the whole time. They were so…shiny. Like pools of quicksilver. He wondered if they could tell the temperature?

The dozy git shook his head, clearing his thoughts and realizing that they had walked far enough from Privet Drive to reach a petrol station. "Are you hungry? We can get some snacks here," he asked, feeling the few pound notes in his pocket. He could afford a snack or two, maybe a few sweets as well.

"That's sounds delightful," the air-headed blonde replied with a wide smile, her radish-shaped earrings bouncing in time to her skipping. "I've heard muggle sweets don't move. Is that true?"

"Yeah, they don't have the magic to charm them," Harry pointed out, before pausing. "Would melted chocolate count as moving sweets?"

"Only technically," Luna added, before frowning minutely. "Do you not like skipping, Harry Potter?"

The young Potter opened his mouth to say no, but stopped when he realized something. "I…I've never actually skipped before," he admitted, scratching cheek in thought. "So I can't say whether I like it or not."

"Then skip with me," she offered, gripping his arm tighter. "When you walk, lift your knee and hop, then alternate foot and knee. Ready?"

Harry cautiously nodded, nearly tripping when Luna dragged him forward with surprising strength. He barely managed to hop, almost falling to the ground when he landed oddly, but on the next attempt he managed to skip passably. The next few skips added experience and by the time they'd skipped a block, they were in sync and laughing gaily. And though he felt mighty silly, the radiant smile on Luna's face and the peals of laughter made it easy for him to ignore the feeling.

The station was empty of all cars and people, with the natural exception of the cashier, who didn't even look up from her magazine as they entered. Harry looked down the candy aisle, dismissing most of brightly wrapped sweets out of hand. While he liked chocolate and treacle tart as much as the next guy, far too many candies were sweetness in a melty bar and he'd seen what they'd done to Dudley.

A bar of dark chocolate and a small bag of lightly salted crisps were his choice, while Luna picked a few pieces of foreign candy with words he didn't even know existed, let alone that he could read. After grabbing a bottle of water, they approached the counter and the girl sullenly checked them out before going back to her magazine. Outside, the not-all-there girl looped her arm around her possible groom-to-be and dragged him back into skipping along the sidewalk.

If Harry had any sense of dignity, he would be glad to know that it was the middle of a summer day and most people were at work, on vacation or feeding their children lunch, so there were very few who saw him arm-in-arm with a slight blonde while they skipped. Harry managed to direct them to a nearby park that was mostly empty, with only a couple of families having a picnic in it.

Luna planted herself in the field, patting the grass next to her with a smile. The scrawny tit took a seat next to her, ripping his bag of crisps open and popping one in his mouth with a crunch. "So, Luna," he began slowly, offering her the bag. "I feel like I know you already, but I still don't, not really. You said your father is magi-a magizoo-someone who studies magical creatures?"

"Magizoologist," the blonde girl corrected gently, licking the salt from a crisp before biting it in half. "Indeed. It's a failing, I think, that after wizards cut something open and learn how to make leather and wands from it, they believe they know everything about the animal. There are still so many questions about the world and its animals that we don't know. Like, why are dragons cold-blooded if they breathe fire? Why do Puffskeins die at the same time?"

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Those are good questions," he offered the bag again. "You said something about invisible creatures? Rack Sports or something?"

"Wrackspurts," Luna corrected again, frowning slightly. "I described them in their entirety in my second letter. Did…did you not understand my letter?"

The last Potter grimaced guiltily. "Some of it was…a bit hard to understand," he hedged, panicking slightly when her face fell. "It's not your fault, really! I'm just…not that smart."

Her silver eyes sharpened as she gave him a dry look. "The excuses of an intelligent person prone to laziness," she countered, leaning forward to gaze into his eyes. "If you believe you will fail, you will. If you don't try, you'll never succeed. If you want, I could help you understand your own intelligence. Some people need help with that."

Feeling suitably chastised, Harry nodded quickly. "Uh sure, that would be great. And we could get to know each other…better." He paused, thinking hard. "What house are you in, Luna? I don't think I've ever…looked around. For you."

"Ravenclaw," Luna answered with a small smile. "I won't take it as an insult that you didn't look for me. You didn't have any reason, did you? And you were busy. How do you like being in Gryffindor? It must be very loud."

The dozy git shrugged in agreement. "It can be, yeah, but it's also warm and lively. It takes some getting used to." He popped another crisp in his mouth. "What about Ravenclaw? Does it actually have a library in the Common Room?"

She carefully unwrapped a foreign sweet, smoothing out the crinkles in the wrapper before sliding it into her pocket and eating the candy. "Mm, tingly," she giggled, offering the other to Harry. "Try it, it's fun."

Harry stared at the brightly-colored sweet cautiously, flickering back and forth between it and Luna's serene smile before taking it. Hesitantly, he took a bite…and immediately began to cough as spice burst in his mouth like a firework. Scrambling for his water bottle, the dozy sod nearly choked as he downed as much water as he could to wash away the burning on his tongue. "That wasn't fun at all," he gasped, scrubbing his tongue with his sleeve.

"Hmm," the airy blonde hummed, "I guess some people can't take a little heat. We'll have to work on that."

"I'd rather not," Harry coughed, sighing as he smacked his lips. "So, does the Ravenclaw common room have a library in it?"

"Oh yes, but it's rather boring all told," Luna pouted, leaning back on her hands and kicking her feet. "All history books and homework guides, but none of the fun, interesting stories. It's quite a shame, really. It's always quiet, focused and studious; there's never any room for fun. I think I'd quite liked to be in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff but my favorite color is blue." She turned to her scrawny prospective husband with an ethereal smile. "Do you have a favorite class, Harry?"

"I do enjoy Charms and Transfiguration, but my favorite has to be Defense Against the Dark Arts," he said with a shrug. "I reckon I like them so much because we get to do magic the most often in those classes. It's fun, learning something new about magic every day."

Luna gave him a supremely pleased look, scooting over on the grass to lean her head on his shoulder. "I think I will marry you after all, Harry," she declared bluntly. She heard him gulp nervously and let loose a tinkling giggle. "Not right now, but when we're older. I think you and I can have a lot of fun together."

Harry thought back to thirty minutes ago, skipping and laughing as they held hands. "Yeah," he murmured faintly. "I think so, too…but we should still get to know each other better."

"Of course," the fae-like blonde hummed. "What kind of woman would I be if I revealed all my secrets on the first date?"

The scrawny tit opened his mouth and paused. "…You're a girl, though."

"Exactly."

With the warm sun combined with a soft breeze and the gentle warmth of the girl leaning against him, Harry found himself dozing in the grass, his mind empty of everything except the serenity of his surroundings. He was snapped out of his trance by Luna shaking him gently. "Hm? Whassgoin'on?"

"It's getting late, Harry," she replied with a gentle smile. "I was supposed to be home a few hours ago, but daddy will understand that I was sleeping with my future husband."

"…Okay," Harry muttered, sitting up in the grass and rubbing his eyes, noticing that the sun was beginning to hang low in the sky. "Ah. I was supposed to work on my Transfiguration homework today."

"There's still plenty of time for that," Luna said, hauling him up to his feet and wrapping an arm around his. "Would you like to skip with me again?"

Unbidden, the last Potter found himself smiling. "Sure." Arm-in-arm, they skipped from the park, down the street and back to Privet Drive. Cars passed them by, gardners looked up from the flower beds and watched as the two kids bounced by, laughing the entire way.

Stopping at Number Four, Harry opened the door and stepped inside, turning to face Luna as an awkward blush covered his cheeks. "So, um…it was nice to meet you in person, Luna."

"I agree," she smiled, "I will visit you again, Harry. Maybe you could come to visit my home? I'd like to introduce you to my daddy, I think he'd love you."

"S-sure," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck embarrassedly. "That sounds nice, Luna." He stiffened as she stood up on her tiptoes and pressed a short kiss to his cheek, his mind blanking at the sensation of her soft, silken and slightly cool lips against his skin.

"Harry? What's going on?" Rita's voice drew him from his reverie. Spinning on his heel, he found at the top of the stairs peering down, a frown on her lips.

Struck by guilt, the scrawny git quickly stepped away from Luna. "Oh! Er, we were just-"

"I gave him a kiss after our first date," Luna said bluntly, a serene smile on her lips. "Daddy told me that was what I was supposed to do if I had fun. And I did. I want to do it again."

"…That's nice," Rita replied slowly, descending down the stairs to slip a possessive arm around Harry's shoulders. "You must be one of potential contractors, I guess."

Harry glanced up at her confusedly. "Uh, yeah. This is Luna Lovegood. Luna, this is-"

"Maria," the intrepid reporter interjected, giving a thin smile as she nodded at the blonde girl. "I'm a good friend of the family."

"That's nice," Luna said blandly, turning a smile on Harry. "I'll come visit you soon, Harry. And when you come visit me, Daddy and I will making Gulping Plimpy soup. I know you'll love it."

"Yeah, that sounds…nice," Harry returned awkwardly.

"Bye." The elfin blonde stated, turning on her heel to skip away. Harry and Rita watched as she bounced away down the street, her silver-blonde hair bobbing with every skip.

The reporter muttered something under her breath, the specky git looking up at her questioningly. "You knew who she was, you were there when I opened the letters," he said rather than asked.

"I remember," Rita replied, leading him into the kitchen with her arm still around his shoulder. "But no one knows me like this, and it would be rather strange if I, as Maria, recognized a twelve-year old girl on sight. Enough about me," she sat him down at one end of the table, taking a chair on the opposite side. She smiled teasingly, waggling her eyebrows. "How was your little date, eh? Was it nice? Did you have fun?"

Harry blushed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "It was nice, yeah…and fun. She's-Luna, she's…fun." There was a brief, awkward silence before he cleared his throat. "Rita…? Did I just go on a date, a real date…with a girl?"

"Yuuup," the reporter drawled with a smirk. "Well, more like a playdate than anything, but yeah, you did. Though, if you think about it, us going out to the movies was a real date."

"…Huh," Harry muttered, scratching his temple. "I guess so." He shook his head and turned his bright green eyes on her. "Before Luna showed up, I was going to get to work on my transfiguration essay. Can you help me?"

"Of course, Harry, but…" Her mind went to letter up on her desk, the curling, looping handwriting belonging to only one old bat. "Listen, I just received a letter, from Albus Dumbledore. He's claiming responsibility for all the missed letters and is asking people to 'forgive your ignorance in the matter.'"

He tilted his head curiously, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. "Did Professor Dumbledore say why the mail ward was up in the first place?"

Rita shrugged, withdrawing her wand to summon the letter from her desk and handing it over when zipped down the stairs. "Something about being worried that the former followers of Voldemort using owl post to track you down and take revenge, either in person or with cursed letters." She huffed, feeling a bit of admiration despite herself. "Old bat knows how to work all the angles, I'll give him that. Reminding people of your status, talking about protecting a national hero, joking about his age…Harry?"

The dozy young man was staring intently at the letter, the handwriting more specifically. "Why does this…" he muttered to himself, scratching his temple absently and jumping when the reporter ran her fingers through his hair. Blushing at her cocked eyebrow, he explained himself. "For some reason, Professor Dumbledore's handwriting reminds me of something…something important, but…"

Huffing, Harry pulled open the cupboard under the stairs, dragging his trunk out and flipping it open. "Quite a mess, eh?" Miss Nosy remarked humoredly, watching as he dug into mass of robes, parchment and other odds and ends. "Step back, Harry, and watch."

The last Potter dutifully stepped away from his trunk as Rita pointed her wand into the mess and gave a series of flicks. "Wow," he muttered, watching with rapture as his robes rose from inside, neatly folded themselves then set down in a corner of his trunk, his socks balling up and his parchment rustling as it pulled itself into neat rolls. "I need to learn that charm."

"It's a modification of the Cleaning Charm, Scourgify," the reporter reported, smirking slightly at the awe on his face. "Scourgify is actually one of the most versatile charms there is, since it just means 'Clean,' and clean can mean a lot of things, depending on the situation. I once knew a girl who had this guy, a real slob of a fellow, trying to court her. She said if he didn't clean himself, she'd make him. And keep rejecting him. So, when he tried again, she hit him with the charm and suds came shooting out of his nose. And his mouth. And his ears. And…well, it was unpleasant for him, to say the least. Ah, there we go."

In the end, almost everything had been sorted into neat piles, with the exception of his potion kit. After the explosive aftermath of his first class, Harry had made damn sure none of his ingredients were mixed. And in-between the neat stacks of clothes was a bunch of random crap; parchment scraps, broken quills, his invisibility cloak and the flute Hagrid had given him for his first Hogwarts Christmas. "There it is," he muttered, dragging the liquid-like cloak from within along with a neat card. "Yup, that's what I thought."

"Can I see that?" Rita asked, chuckling internally as the young wizard passed the cloak over. Prime teasing material right here, she noted, running it through her fingers before a frown crossed her face. Or it would be, if I hadn't had to explain what puberty was to him yesterday. Dammit. Hey… She rubbed the cloak experimentally, comparing it to the ones she'd felt before. "This is strange…"

"What is?" Harry looked up from comparing the letter to the note.

"This feels very different from regular invisibility cloaks," she noted, holding it up to the light. "Usually, they feel a bit softer than a regular cloak, but that's it. This one feels like cool water in cloak form."

"It belonged to my dad," he noted, holding up the card. Your father left this with me before he died. Use it well. It read in familiar, looping letters.

"Albus Dumbledore gave the son of a notorious prankster an Invisibility Cloak?" Rita said incredulously, "I mean, it is a family heirloom, but still. It's a little…iffy, don't you think?"

Harry frowned at her and she resisted the urge to pinch his scrunched up cheeks. "No. Why?"

The reporter planted a hand on her hip, leaning against the stairs as she explained, "Well, you just so happen to get something that helped you sneak around just as you were getting into the mystery? And after being deprived of gifts your whole life, no less." She reached up with her free hand to scratch behind her ear, hiding a satisfied smirk as his eyes dipped to the brief flash of her stomach. "And you said Dumbledore could look through it a couple of times. I mean, it's an invisibility cloak. Unless he tagged it with charms or something, he shouldn't have been able to see it."

The young Potter paused in thought. "Or he's just experienced enough to see where a person under a cloak could be," he pointed out in return, tilting his head curiously. "You don't like Professor Dumbledore, do you?"

"I'm ambivalent," Rita shrugged, lying through her teeth. Time to change the subject, can't push it too hard too quick. "Now, you said you had some transfiguration homework?"

"Oh yeah, I do," Harry started in realization, taking back his cloak and making to put it away. "Actually…I want to put all my stuff in my dad's trunk," he gave her a blushing shrug, "Guess I made you waste the charm, sorry."

"Oh Harry," the nosy woman crooned, pulling him into a one-armed hug that left his cheek cradled against her bosom, running her free hand through his hair, "Nothing's a waste when it comes to helping you." With a casual twist and flick of her wand, Harry's trunk floated up the stairs and they followed it, the young man sitting at his desk with Rita standing behind him.

"S-so I have to explain why the process of transfiguring animate to animate is easier than inanimate to animate, but I don't know why it is and…the text is hard to read," he admitted embarrassedly, half from the difficulty of admitting his problem and half from the soft pair of breasts resting against the back of his head.

Rita chuckled, peering over his scribbled beginnings with an arched eyebrow. "Those books can be mighty dry, can't they? Like a dry roll just crying out for some butter, or maybe gravy," she snorted and shook her head. "I forgot to grab some lunch. Anyway, if the text is a bit impenetrable, you should look into a magazine, the Transfiguration Journal. I don't subscribe to it myself, but I've read it a few times. Here, let me put it this way;"

She conjured two pieces of rock on Harry's desk with a pair of flicks, then transfigured one into a wooden carving which definitely wasn't in the image of her cottage, oh no, while the other became a kitten. "Oh wow," Harry whispered, picking up the carving and inspecting it, "It's so amazing that you can do that without any words, it almost seems impossible."

The reporter felt a flattered and pleased blush make its way across her cheeks, and she responded by nuzzling his messy black hair. "You know just what to say to make a girl feel appreciated, don't you?" The heat emanating from his face warmed her arms. "Look at the carving, really look at it. See the details? All the small, intricate things?"

Trying ignore the pillowy sensation and failing badly, the little wizard turned the wooden house in his hands, seeing the that the roof had a few missing tiles and that the sides were cracked and pitted with age. Peering through a window, he could make out a desk and a bed. "Yeah," he breathed, running his thumbs over the smooth wood.

"It was ten times harder to make the kitten," she continued, taking the house out of his hands and replacing it with said. "Touch it, stroke it…gently," Rita cautioned, a smirk on her lips, "Don't handle my pussy roughly, it needs a softer touch before that. Now, what do you feel?"

"Soft," Harry said, stroking the warm, silken fur of the kitten as it snoozed away in his hands. He could feel it breathing, its chest expanding and contracting against his fingers and beneath that, a quick, steady heartbeat. "Warm, breathing…living."

"In a word," the reporter murmured into his ear, "Movement. The air coming in to the lungs, the blood pumping through the heart, it all moves. That's what makes inanimate to animate so difficult, taking something that is still and lifeless, and bringing it to life. Not, I should say, giving the appearance of life, that's a Glamour and those are Charms. All the moving parts, moving correctly, that's what you need. With animate to animate, most of those things are already moving, unless you're changing a bug into a toad or something. You get me?"

"I think so," the last Potter said softly, lightly petting the kitten as it yawned and awoke, blinking large yellow eyes at him.

"Good!" Rita vanished both the kitten and the house, noting the dismayed noise her object of attention made at the loss. "Now, write that down but in a long-winded, somewhat meandering way. If you do well enough, I'll let you play with my pussy some more." Wow, Rita, tone the innuendo down a tad. There'll be no playing of any kinds of parts until August. Well, not strictly true, a girl has needs…

Nodding determinedly, Harry dipped his quill and got to writing, occasionally stopping to ask a question, which Rita would answer while gently teasing him pushing her chest against the back of his head.

And when he was finished with Transfiguration, they moved onto Charms. It was a rather nice experience for the both of them, all told, spending the afternoon working away together. But all things, especially nice ones, have to end sometime.

"Oh Harry dear!" Petunia's reedy voice called up the staircase, "I've bought you some new clothes! And I've bought a ham for dinner, won't that be delightful?"

The two magical twats stepped out of Harry's room, peering over the banister to see Petunia staggering towards the kitchen with a large ham clutched in her bony arms. "Looks like you've got an armful there, Aunt Petunia," Rita smirked, stepping down and drawing her wand. With a flick of her stick, the big hunk of meat rose out of the muggle's grasp and began to float into the dining room.

Neither of them missed the way Petunia's face paled at the blatant magic use. "Oh, thank you dear," she smiled at Rita, brushing her hands together. "There isn't much left in the car, I'll just go get it, shall I?"

"Nonsense, I'll come help!" The reporter smiled, her grin curved like a shark's. "Harry, go finish up your Charms essay, I'll help Aunt Petunia here with dinner."

"Okay," Harry nodded, tilting his head at his retreating aunt. Although she'd only done it because of the charms she was under, she'd still bought Harry some new clothes. "Thank you for the new clothes, Aunt Petunia."

The thin muggle turned to look up at him, a brief war taking place over her features before she settled on a small smile. "You're welcome, Harry dear," she said softly, almost wistfully before heading out of the door.

As the messy-haired little tosser went back into his room, Rita hid her wand up her sleeve and followed Petunia out into the driveway, where the muggle was pulling plastic bags out of the boot. "Allow me to help," the reporter said, laying a hand on the muggle's shoulder.

Petunia stiffened as another set of compulsion charms washed over her, layered with an extra that would tell Rita when they were about to fade. Rather not have another plate chucked at my head, thank you, she thought, carrying half the groceries into the kitchen and leaving the rail-thin woman to it while she went back upstairs. Now, I have an article to write…a very odd one, too.

In his room, The Twit Master General set his completed charms essay aside to dry and, deciding that'd done enough homework for the day, leaned back in his chair with the strange journal.

I'm not overdramatic, it read. Everyone else is.

I tried to talk to the girl I call Lily, but the Gryffindors drew around her like I was going to club her over the head and drag her into the dungeons to turn her into potion ingredients! I knew there was some sort of rivalry between the Houses, but this is ridiculous! It was outside of Transfiguration, with the Professor being the Head of Gryffindor along with Deputy Headmaster.

He's an odd duck and no doubt about that, but the way he talked about Transfiguration and magic in general was…stirring. He's just so enthusiastic about it, I couldn't help but smile during class. And despite being Head of my 'rival' House, he still praised my turning a matchstick into a needle, and even offered extra points if I could do it again but add writing.

I made it say 'Watch the eye.' Then he smiled at me and his eyes did this weird twinkling thing, but that was actually comforting. It's nice to know I'm not the only one with strange eyes.

Anyway, I have to wait a few more days before I can try and find out what Lily's real name is, since I only have Charms and Transfiguration with Gryffindor. Potions and Herbology are with Hufflepuff, while Astronomy and History of Magic are with Ravenclaw. Damnation.

…

Herbology was a pleasant surprise, though my Housemates don't seem to think so. Apparently, handling a little dirt is beneath them, bunch of pricks. I enjoy it, actually, feeling the earth between my fingers, the myriad of scents and the rustling of leaves. The Professor is…rather dim, though, when it comes to anything outside of plants. When I asked how the leaves and stems differ when making potions, he gave me a blank look and mumbled something about asking Slughorn.

And speaking…or writing of potions, I guess, it's a decent class. Slughorn is a fair teacher, telling of the correct method of stirring, proper cutting and grinding techniques and why some steps use clockwise stirs while others need counter-clockwise. I made sure to write it down and made a copy, just in case I need a spare. It'll come in handy someday, I'm sure.

Harry flipped the page to find a folded piece of parchment stuck in-between the next pages, and upon pulling it out he found a list of what he'd read about just before. Looking down the list, it took him a minute to realize that the bullet points were actually made of small Longevity Runes. He set it aside, as he still had his Potions homework to do, and perhaps having that list would make it a bit easier to write his essay.

The first potion we made was a simple Wart-Removing Solution, which went fine for me. I've made plenty of it at home, so I knew just what to do. The directions were a bit wrong, with an extra pinch of of powdered bicorn hoof along with an unnecessary counter-clockwise stir. My potion was softer green than the others, which means it can be used on more sensitive parts of the body, which is fairly horrifying to think about. When Slughorn stopped to check in at my station, he laughed loudly and told everyone about me being some sort of little Potions genius, apparently because my grandparents were also good at it.

I hate the attention. And it's not like I came up with the change in making the potion, it was in the family book at home.

Someone, I don't know who, added too many drops of murtlap essence into their cauldron without taking it off the heat first and Slughorn yelled for everyone to duck before it exploded. I nearly ran head-first into a girl under my station; apparently, she'd come to look at my potion before the accident, and at first I thought it was Lily. It took me a moment to notice that her eyes were grey and while they had red hair, this girl's was a very dark red, rather like blood. It was quite fetching actually.

Her name is Amelia Bones, of the House Bones. They used to be a family of necromancers and seers, but seem to have shifted towards government now. She's in Hufflepuff, though I wonder if she's friends with Lily…

Anywho, I can't comprehend how someone could make a mistake like that. I stopped blowing cauldrons up after the third time and Mother hexed me so badly I couldn't see out of my left eye for a week. Slughorn also tore strips out of that idiot's hide and sent him off to the Infirmary to fix the miniature horns sprouting out of his face.

Some people.

…

Damnation. Again, I tried to approach Lily and again, those gilded morons grouped up and left. What is wrong with these people?! I just want talk to her, get her actual name…and also find out why her eyes are a different color. I'm sure they were green, but today they were blue.

I also decided to look up the flower she has stenciled onto her books. It took most of my afternoon free period, but I finally found it in the Herbology section. It's a flower called a Sundrop, a rare flower that only blooms only at a specific time one day of the year, noon on the Summer Solstice. It's also known as 'The Daytime Lily,' which confused me. Don't all Lilies bloom in the day time? Except for the Lunar Lilies, obviously.

Harry looked up from the journal at the sound of beating wings, leaning back slightly as the spotted owl he recognized as being Susan Bones' bird fluttered inside his window and offered its leg. Untying the two letters, he offered it a treat and got to reading. One was from Susan, who was asking if they could try and start over afresh, given her new knowledge of his situation. He also learned that the owl was a girl named Fibia.

"Wow," he muttered, running a hand through his hair and looking up at the owl. "Are you a liar, girl?"

Fibia hooted negatively, bouncing in place and bobbing her head rhythmically. When he went back to reading, she pecked his desk loudly and barked at him, then continued to bounce and bob, occasionally flaring her wings in what was obviously some sort of dance. With a theatrical flap of her wings that made Harry's essays fly off the desk, Fibia twirled and bowed, looking at the scrawny boy expectantly.

Nonplussed, he glanced down at the letter. If she dances for you, make sure to clap. Harry clapped politely and the owl hooted, settling down on the window sill almost radiating smugness. Finishing off the letter, Harry decided that yes, he and Susan could start afresh. Even though she had treated him with suspicion during the whole 'Heir of Slytherin' event, she only seemed to do so because her best friend, Hannah Abbott, was doing so as well. And speaking of Hannah Abbott…

The other letter was from her. It spoke of how, for the longest time, she and her best friend had looked up to the legend of the Boy-Who-Lived, how Susan had lost both her parents and Hannah had lost her mother to Voldemort, and how they both hoped that little lonely Harry Potter would understand and they could be friends. And then, how after their letters had gone unanswered for years, Hannah had started to hate him for being 'better than them' while Susan had always held onto hope. And then, when they'd first seen him, shorter than all the other first years, with messy hair and glasses that were a tad too big for his face, they were confused.

They'd thought (correctly) that, perhaps Harry had never gotten their letters by mistake and, perhaps, they could try to make friends. But he'd been so caught up with Ronald Weasley and withdrawn from the rest of the school, except for his spats against Malfoy. Then Halloween had come and Hermione had joined them, and Susan had thought it was too late.

Then second year had come around and Harry had hissed at the snake menacing Justin Finch-Fletchley and all the worst thoughts Hannah had had about him seemed to come true in an instant. He was a sneaky Slytherin, far more sneaky than the others because he'd hid himself in Gryffindor, so she'd turned her back on him with the rest of the school; somehow forgetting that his mother was muggleborn, as was his only other friend.

And then, Hannah revealed her regrets, had allowed her previous judgements built off her opinion color what Harry actually was, seeing only what she wanted to. She apologized for her actions, and asked if they could send letters to one another and get to know each other better without the past clouding reality.

Basically, the same as Susan's first letter, but much longer and much more rambling. Harry set her letter down and opened his father's trunk, grabbing a Licorice Wand to ruminate with. Chewing slowly, the young wizard thought back to the previous year of schooling at Hogwarts, how angry the constant suspicious looks and cold shoulders from the House of Loyalty had made him feel. The feeling of being singled out everywhere he went, being alone in a crowd of kids his age, the subtle burning of shame and disappointment mingling with resentment for them believing all that rot about him being the Heir of Slytherin.

Which, ironically, he actually was. But he hadn't known that at the time. Just like Hannah hadn't known about the letters.

Stuffing the last length of the licorice in his mouth, Harry nodded to himself and grabbed a pair of fresh parchment pieces, scribbling out his replies which basically amounted to 'Yes, let's try to be friends, here's some basic information about me.' "Here you go, Fibia," he said, tying the letters to the owl's leg and feeding her another treat before she flew from his window.

"Dinner, Harry!" Aunt Petunia called from downstairs. Dutifully, Harry descended the stairs and joined his relatives (and Rita) at the dinner table, where a roasted honey-glazed ham sat in the center, still steaming with a sweet and savory scent, succulent sweat sliding swiftly down the side. Along with the centerpiece was a bowl of mashed potatoes and a salad. "There you are, dear! Here, have a plate. Why don't you tell me all about your day?"

Sitting next to a smirking Rita, across from a slumped-over Dudley, the young wizard took the plate and sat down. "Well, I worked on my Hogwarts homework-"

"You didn't cast any magic, did you lad?" Vernon asked worriedly, but not in his 'enraged walrus' state, but in a way that said he was genuinely concerned for Harry. "You could get in trouble with your Ministry."

"Oh, he didn't cast any magic," That Bitch announced, taking a plate of dinner with a smile, "It's mostly theory work at home, and he only needed a few examples to understand his problems."

"Ah," the fat older muggle nodded, leaning back in his chair which creaked alarmingly, "Excellent, good show you two! I always knew you were a right crafty one, lad. Your school results must be quite good."

Harry hid a grimace behind a slice of ham, eating it in lieu of answering. While they weren't horrible, they definitely could be better. It's not like you punished me when I did better than Dudley, he thought bitterly, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "I also met with a girl I might end up betrothed to," he added, quietly enjoying the shock on Vernon and Petunia's faces. Dudley, on the other hand, was sluggishly shoveling food into his mouth and mumbling under his breath.

"'Betrothed?'" Petunia repeated incredulously, "Wizards still have betrothal contracts? Isn't that a tad…archaic?"

"Not really," Rita cut in, licking a smidge of potatoes away from the corner of her mouth, "They aren't permanent thing, it's more of an agreement between two people that they might get married, if they're compatible. There isn't any forcing of any party, it has to be mutual."

"Oh," the thin muggle muttered. "Well, that's good. What is this young lady like?"

Harry tilted his head, narrowing his eyes in thought. It was a rather adorable look for him. "She's…strange, but not in a bad way, just…different, I guess. Her name's Luna."

"Pretty name," Vernon noted, before moving on to a new conversation about his work. Apparently, his good behavior had caught his boss's eye and he was getting reviewed for a promotion.

After dinner was consumed and dessert, a light fruit salad, was eaten, Petunia and Vernon bundled their son up the stairs for a shower and bed, leaving the two magicals with the downstairs to themselves. "We're gonna have another movie night," the reporter announced, taking Harry by the arm and leading him to the couch. "I'm thinking…Star Wars, yes, every boy loves those movies." She drew the tapes from her purse and bent over to insert them into the VCR, wiggling her hips slightly as she imagined the look on Harry's face as he watched muggle magic take place.

And when she sat down next to him and his was resolutely gaze fixed on the lamp next him, she definitely wasn't smirking, honest. And then the musical score began, Harry leaned forward…and his jaw dropped.

Hours later, Rita stood up from the couch and stretched, muttering about going to the bathroom and Harry got up to make some popcorn, his mind still fixed on the movie he'd just seen. For some reason he couldn't identify, the story resonated with him…Wait a minute. His spine cracked as he straightened, his thoughts racing. A boy with heroic parents who died, living with his aunt and uncle, gets pulled into a new, dangerous world by a bearded man, who's enemy is a Dark Lord…Holy Shite, that's my life! I mean, the details are different, but the broad strokes are the same. Am…am I in a story?

"Harry?" A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped, bruising his back against the counter. A concerned Rita touched his cheek. "Deep thoughts?"

"Yeah, I was just…noticing something odd," He replied sheepishly, scratching behind his ear. Asking 'do you ever feel fictional' would probably get him an odd look, and despite her previous declaration, Harry would rather Rita not think him too strange to be around. "Popcorn's done."

When they sat down to watch the next movie, the reporter pulled him close and he lost himself in the comfort she offered and the adventures of Luke Skywalker in a galaxy far, far away…

After it was over, Rita half-pulled and half-leaned on a sleepy Harry, who was mumbling questions to himself. "Why'd Leia say she loved Han so soon after she kissed Luke? Was she lying? I don't like liars…" He paused as a thought occurred, the nosy journalist cursing as she stubbed her toe on the next step. "Those weird torches…the sword torches…swordches. They looked familiar…"

"Harry…" Rita whined tiredly, "C'moooooonnnn, I wanna sleeeeeep…Most muggles got torches, Harry, they aren't…" She tilted her head back and let loose a deep, jaw-cracking yawn, "…That unusual."

"Oh," he muttered, opening his door and stripping his day clothes off in trade for his nightshirt. Blinking, he turned around to see his older friend watching him with half-glazed eyes, one of which she winked at him with. Blearily deciding he was too tired to care, Sleepy Harry set the issue aside for Awake Harry to deal with tomorrow and slid into bed.

Rita felt his eyes on her as she unbuttoned her trousers and let them slide down as she shucked her shirt off, leaving her in her underthings. Who cares? She thought tiredly, transfiguring her bra into a comfortable shirt, it's not like he's not going to see me naked soon enough…actually, I should start making my shirts shorter…

Flicking off the light, she climbed over the young wizard, pausing briefly to rest the weight of her body on top of Harry before slumping down beside him, pulling the quilt up to cover them and stowing her wand under her pillow. Wrapping her arms around him, she pulled him close and nuzzled his hair, her mind falling away with a faint murmur of, "G'night…"

…

Harry awoke for no obvious reason, peering sleepily at the quiet, sun-dappled room in confusion before snuggling back into Rita's warmth. I could get used to this…

But before sleep could tug his eyes closed, he jerked awake again. "Whhhyyy…" He whined, attempting to sit up. 'Attempting' being the key word, as Rita's arms, more than capable of overpowering a scrawny pre-teen, pulled him back down against her somewhat awkwardly, the tip of her nose brushing the base of his skull.

"Nnnnnoooo, Haaaarrryyy…" She burbled into his neck and he went ramrod-stiff as her lips touched his skin. Everything else seemed to fade except for that feeling, her silky-smooth lips brushing the back of his neck, hyper-aware that every feather-light touch sent bolts of heat through his body. Then, the hand draped over his stomach began to move, stroking down his belly under his shirt, each movement taking her lower and lower…

…tap…

"…Rita, what's that sound?" He managed to speak through a tightly-clenched jaw. To both his relief and frustration, oddly, the reporter withdrew from her ministrations.

"What sound…?" She asked faintly, before the quiet tapping made itself known again. Rita shifted, looking up at the window to find a common brown owl tapping at the glass, an official Ministry of Magic harness across its breast. Withdrawing her wand, she spelled the window open and summoned the letter, breaking the seal with a finger and reading.

Harry felt it as she went rigid, twisting around to peer at her. "Rita, what's-"

"Oh, shite." With surprising agility, she threw the covers aside and dove out of bed, frantically scrabbling at her trousers as she reversed the transfiguration on her top.

A somewhat-stunned Harry reclined on his pillows, watching as the witch hopped around trying to get her legs into her clothes, which made certain parts very…jiggly. He felt a bit disappointed as she secured her trousers and pulled on her shirt, and even more so when she transfigured them to look more like Wizarding under-robes. Her handbag opened with a snap and she reached into it, her arm disappearing up to her elbow before withdrawing a rather hideous lime-green robe with what looked like cheetah spots decorating it.

Sliding her glasses into place, Rita's jaw became more square and heavy, makeup caking her face to make her look just a bit too pale, lips with lipstick that made them look just a bit too red, eyes and mouth gaining slight lines. Her hair seemed to curdle into rigid blonde ringlets, her eyes lightening a shade. Turning to Harry, she gestured at herself. "How do I look?"

The young wizard blinked at her. "…Blonde?" He shrugged helplessly. "What's going on?"

The reporter paused, her eyes flicking to the crumpled letter on the floor. "It's…something important, Harry," she said after a moment, summoning the missive to her and shoving it in her handbag. "I can't say just yet, but…when I get back, I'll explain it, alright?"

"Okay," he nodded, his eyes showing his confusion.

"Good, I'll be back in a few hours. You might want to check over your papers and maybe work on another today," Rita leaned down and grasped Harry by the jaw, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his lips. "Don't forget to take your potions at breakfast and lunch, okay?"

Blinking rapidly as his cheeks flooded with heat, the young Potter licked his lips. "Yeah, I will."

"Bye, Harry," The reporter smiled briefly and stepped out of his room, quickly layering the Dursley's with more compulsions before turning on her her heel and vanishing with a crack.

Harry sighed, slumping down in his bed as he felt her presence vanish. I hope it isn't something bad, he thought, noting that the sudden shift in tone had dealt with a certain problem that had arisen due to Rita's actions. He could feel the ghost of her lips against his skin, the soft warmth of her breasts enfolding his back…

Then he had a problem again.

After a quick shower, the young wizard set about making breakfast and although he didn't really have to cook for the Dursley's, it was something he'd come to enjoy, even more so now that they weren't being complete arseholes. Still, he thought, flipping a griddle cake, at least I won't have to make a huge amount...Then, he remembered that he had to take a nutrient potion with breakfast. And Rita wasn't there to duplicate the food. Guess I have to, after all.

Aunt Petunia came down the stairs to smell of pancakes and bacon, a smile tugging at her lips as she opened the kitchen door. Aww, Harry's so thoughtful, she marveled before she saw the massive pile of flapjacks on the table. "Er, Harry dear?" She started slowly, "You know I've been cutting down on the food, right?"

"I know, Aunt Petunia, it's…" He blushed adorably and Petunia had to resist the urge to pinch his cheeks and coo. "It's for me. I'm taking nutrient potions, and they need a lot of food to work properly." 'And I have to take them because you half-starved me most of my life,' went tastefully unsaid.

"I see," the thin muggle muttered, shame burning in her breast, "Well, let me get some tea started and I'll help you, Harry dear."

"That sounds…nice, Aunt Petunia," Harry said tentatively, giving her a small, hopeful smile.

She stroked his messy hair and went about her business, putting the kettle on for her morning tea and getting the coffee going for Vernon before taking the stove next to Harry, expertly flipping the bacon while adding a few rashers more to the pan. "Your new clothes are in the dryer, dear; and while I think I know your size, I want you to try them on see if anything doesn't fit."

"Okay, Aunt Petunia," the young wizard murmured, almost unconsciously edging towards the warmth at his side. With a nervous, silent gulp, he hesitantly leaned into Petunia's side, flinching when her arm rose and settled around his shoulders like a thin, motherly mantle. He relaxed against her, a smile quirking his lips as she began to hum and they continued to cook.

It lasted all of two minutes before a band of something iron-hard and white-hot fastened around his neck, choking the air out of his lungs and bringing burning tears to his eyes. With experience borne of years suffering in silence, Harry stifled his emotions, shoving them back down as he took the last pancake off the pan, his knuckles white and his hands shaking. "Excuse me," he muttered, turning off the stove and turning away from Aunt Petunia, ignoring her concerned call as he raced up the stairs, quietly closed the door before throwing himself on the bed and burying his face in his pillow just as he began to cry.

Muffled by the pillow, his sobs couldn't drown out the thoughts furiously racing through his skull. That was how it should been! He raged in his mind, That was how it should've been! Not how it was! I could've had a loving Aunt and Uncle, a Cousin who would've been like my brother! Instead…

There was a soft rap on the door, though no one entered. "Harry?" Uncle Vernon's concerned voice filtered through the wood. "You alright in there, lad?"

That made the lump in Harry's throat burn all the hotter. You don't care. You've never cared. You only care now because you were made to. Clearing his throat, Harry called back, "I'm fine, Uncle Vernon, I just need to get something." The will to not curse your faces off.

"I…I see. Well, I'm going in to work, so I'll see you this evening," Vernon replied after a second. "Stiff upper lip, lad, stiff upper lip."

His eye twitched, and the next minute was spent in silence before another set of knocks came. "You alright, cousin?" Dudley asked sheepishly.

"I'm fine, Dudley," The young wizard replied flatly, digging a potion out of his trunk and pausing as a thought occurred. I really need to make a note to myself and put all my stuff in father's trunk. Resolving to move his stuff over, Harry closed his trunk and took a deep breath.

"I'm going to mow the yard at Number Thirteen," the fat young muggle offered, "If you want, I'm sure you could come with."

"No, thank you Dudley."

"Alright, see you in a bit." And with that, there was silence. Harry let his head rest on the edge of his bed, breathing deeply as he tamped down on the anger and resentment still lingering inside.

Feeling his stomach growl, he sighed and pushed himself up, opening the door to find a startled Petunia with her hand raised to knock. "Oh, Harry…" She struggled to speak, her hands worrying the hem of her apron, "I-uh, I'm…"

Steeling himself, Harry stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his aunt, his cheek resting over her hammering heart. Slowly, she reached up and hugged him back, planting a soft kiss on his hair.

This feels nice, warm and kind of soft…but not as nice as Rita. Not as soft as Rita. Not as kind as Rita. Harry's eyes opened, his visage hardening into one chiseled from stone as he realized something. I hate you. I hate you all.

…

Rita pushed her way to the front of the throng, ignoring the protests and insults in return as she joined a man just in front of the simple stage set up before them, lined with severe-looking Aurors. "Bozo!" She called, grabbing the homeless-looking man by the shoulder, nearly jostling the camera out of his hands. "What's going on?"

William Ozziman the Third, 'Billy' to his friends and 'Bozo' to his co-workers, turned a pair of bloodshot brown eyes on his long-time reporting partner, scratching at the deep grey beard-show on his lower face. "Don't know fer certain," He grunted, "We all got the same letter, sayin' someone's 'scaped from Azkaban, no one knows who. But all this hullabaloo's got me thinkin' it's one of the bad ones."

Rita felt herself grow cold at the thought of a maniac like Bellatrix Lestrange or Evan Rosier escaping, but the worst possible one would've been…Oh Merlin, no. Not Him. Not Black. Please don't be Black, please don't be Black.

A door opened behind the stage and Amelia Bones ascended the stage to stand behind the podium, her steel-gray hair and monocle glinting in the dim light, only adding to the imposing aura of the woman who had survived Voldemort's Reign and became the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "Thank you all for coming this morning," Amelia began stiffly, looking as if she'd rather be anywhere else, "This is an emergency press release with the purpose of warning the Wizarding World. Sometime last night, Sirius Black escaped his cell in the High Security Wing of Azkaban Wizarding Prison."

There was a second of silence before it seemed like a storm had been birthed in the chamber, shouts and screams crashing over one another, but Rita heard none of it. Her skin had paled to a sickly shade, her long green nails digging into the meat of her arm even as her Qwik-Quotes Quill scribbled furiously on a floating piece of parchment.

Amelia Bones frowned severely, drawing her wand and silencing the congregation with a wave. "There will be silence," she growled, "Or I will make it silent. This is not the time to panic."

"Then when?!" Someone in the crowd shrieked as the Silence Spell was canceled, "Sirius Black was You-Know-Who's right hand! He killed thirteen Muggles with one Curse!"

"He is still a man, a man who's spent eleven years being exposed to Dementors every day," Amelia replied bluntly, "He is weak, wand-less and an enemy of the people, wizarding or not. To that effect, a Kiss-on-Sight order has been signed by Minister Fudge and a manhunt ordered. Even as we speak, Aurors are sweeping Diagon and Knockturn Alley, as well Hogsmeade, Godric's Hollow and others. The Irish and French Ministries have been warned, and it has been decided that the Muggle World should be warned as well, naming Black as a Mass-Murderer who killed the Muggles with a muggle wand called a 'gun.'"

Something in that speech struck Rita as odd and she shoved her hand in the air, her ugly green nails catching the light. "Why Godric's Hollow?" She asked, "Black's well-known as You-Know-Who's right hand man, so why would he go to the scene of his master's downfall? And why Hogsmeade? Headmaster Dumbledore was reported as the only wizard You-Know-Who feared."

Bones fixed an angry glare at the reporter, her monocle flashing threateningly. "Because," she gritted out unwillingly, "It was reported that, in the days before his escape, Black was heard muttering…'He's at Hogwarts.'"

Rita felt the earth drop out from under her, her heart landing somewhere around her ankles with a hollow thunk. "He…Black…He's after Harry Potter?"

Amelia growled under her breath as the crowd paled and the Aurors scowled. "That is what is assumed, yes."

Someone in the crowd, Rita faintly recognized it as a reporter for Witch Weekly, shouted, "What is being done to protect the Boy-Who-Lived?! Are you going to take him into protective custody?!"

Her heart, still sitting near her feet, went still.

"I have been assured," Even a deaf man could've heard the sarcasm think in Bones' voice, "That Harry Potter is being…'adequately protected from those who would wish him harm,' by the Chief Warlock."

Rita's hands curled into fists, her nails digging into her palms hard enough to draw blood. Let Black come, she stated in her head, her brown eyes glimmering with the promise of violence. I'll kill that traitorous fuck. No one touches My Harry.

…

…

…

A/N: Remember how, in the A/N for the last chapter, I said I didn't know how long the inspiration train would keep rolling? Turns out, it was all year, but around the globe.

I started this chapter almost immediately after the last one, but my attention was taken by finishing Still Not A Hero (and I should really get around to updating the sequel to that) as well as new stories, the biggest one being Console, my Worm/Kinda-Gamer fic. So, it wasn't a lack of inspiration, it was too much inspiration! Just…not for this story. Sorry.

'Tis an unfortunate fact about me, but I just have too many ideas you guys. I mean, I have most of the summer, third year and summer fourth year planned out, but…

Just to be clear, Harry won't be having sex with Rita until summer fourth year, but after he becomes thirteen, there will be some petting, groping, exploring of bodies, etc. If that turns you off, well…I don't care. But you can look forward to learning more about Pansy, Millicent, Luna as well as Susan and Hannah. And I haven't forgotten about Ron and Hermione.

Though, to completely honest, I don't like Ron. Don't expect him to be a huge part of the story.

I also won't be making up some kind of pseudoscience magic system for one simple reason: Science. Is boring. What you can do with science is amazing, awesome and all that, but science itself, and math? Boring. As. Fuck.

Probably one of the worst things you can do is explain how the magic works, 'cause after you do that, it's not magic anymore, it's fucking science that does magical things, like regular fucking science but with wands. It's inane and misses the whole point of magic: It's fucking Magic. It shouldn't be explained, it shouldn't be mundane, it's fucking MAGIC. Which is also why I'm not a fan of the movies after Year 2. Losing that sense of wonder, making magic just another thing you do feels like a crime against imagination.

To be fair, normalizing once-strange things is something that happens, but still. Magic.

Also, Luna. I'm not a fan of people who write her as being insane but somehow always right about everything. I prefer to think of her as a strange, kinda loopy but very sweet girl who's loopiness comes from living with a magizoologist; who knows what kind of things she's eaten? Maybe some of them had odd effects on her brain chemistry and unlocked something humanity had forgotten? Maybe she's a shaman, how about that?

Anyway, thanks for reading this chapter, why not leave a review on the way out?

Big thanks, as always, to Dairegh, NorthSouthGorem, Kurogane7 and AJR3333 for being excellent sounding boards, editors and the like! Go give a checking-out and tell 'em Soleneus sent ya!

And that they owe me a pizza!

Dairegh: And don't forget to leave your thoughts on the chapter in a review! Your input helps motivate us authors. : )

Stay Awesome.

~Soleneus

P.S.: I don't know when I'm going to update this next, but I can guarantee it won't be a year, though it might be a while. I don't know if you've come from my other stories, or if this story is a stepping-off point for my other stuff, but I'm in the process of moving from Seattle, Washington to Key West, Florida. It's gonna be a big change to say the least, so…

Yeah.

But I am working on my other stories, with The Life With Monster Girls being next on my list of stories to update, so look forward to that.

Also, some people have been wondering why the narration is insulting to pretty much everyone, and here's why: Technically, this is a story being told to someone, and the narrator doesn't like pretty much everyone. That's why. Who the narrator is, is related to who the author of the mysterious journal is.

It's funny, seeing people guessing who the author is. I've seen Snape, Lucius Malfoy and even Voldemort, which are all wrong. But keep trying, you might get it eventually.

;)

Stay Awesome Some More.

~still Soleneus