Author's Note: I'm back! Sort of. I'm afraid my constant search for employment (temporary and otherwise) took up most of my time for the better part of a year, with most of my writing going towards cover letters… But I'm still writing this too, I swear. Thanks for your patience, and for your kind comments! They absolutely brighten my day and I go back to read them often when I need a boost. Enjoy the next chapter! :)

Fucking hell.

Severus had been fairly certain that nothing could surprise him at this point. As it was, he considered it a near miracle he had managed to Disapparate back to Hogsmeade without Splinching himself from lack of focus. He retreated to a side alley to give himself time to think before making the trek to the gates; this wasn't something he could risk anyone knowing—especially Dumbledore—without considering the alternatives first.

Bellatrix was in favour with the Dark Lord, because she carried his child, presumably. That meant he wanted it, or saw it as a good thing, at least, if he had not planned for it. No, most likely planned—he had never seemed the type to accept Bella's advances with anything more than cool acknowledgement, though the obvious fact it had gone beyond that at some point made Severus want to vomit.

He doubted Rodolphus cared, not that he would have much choice if he did. He'd never seemed particularly fond of Bella beyond his other friends among the Death Eaters, anyway, although he had hoped once—

Severus frowned. They'd hoped for a child to raise in the cause, much like Draco, though undoubtedly any spawn of theirs would have been much worse. But that had never seemed their lot. At the time, Severus really hadn't cared whether they were unable, or whether Bella had deliberately sabotaged their attempts in her efforts to catch the Dark Lord's attention, but it certainly seemed more relevant now…

Or was it? Did it even matter, unless the Dark Lord himself had ordered it? But a child, and now, of all times… It didn't make sense. The Dark Lord had certainly shown no inclination for an heir before, and why should he? By all accounts, he was as immortal as it seemed anyone could be, at least without the Philosopher's Stone.

Severus rubbed at his eyes and grimaced. Beyond that, it didn't even seem possible for the Dark Lord to—well—he didn't seem human. He couldn't have been, now, if he'd ever been before the end of his first rise to power. Any child of his wouldn't be natural, surely—but there had to be some sort of—and how did that even work?

That line of thought made him feel distinctly ill, so Severus abandoned it for another time. It did, however, open the possibility that his mystery potion might not be a poison as he'd assumed… He'd have to broaden his search. Damn it.

No, Dumbledore definitely could not know about this, at least for now. Knowing him, he'd take an unhealthy interest in it, and if word of that got back to the Dark Lord, there would be no mercy. Severus wasn't even supposed to know anything about it; he'd have no chance to explain anything. He couldn't risk it.

The decision, once made, calmed him. Lying he could handle. His racing thoughts slowed, adrenaline finally draining enough for him to realise that he was currently very wet, and cold, and should probably stop skulking before any of the locals spotted him and assumed he was up to no good.

He was only halfway down the high street before it became obvious something was wrong—he was cold, yes, but it had grown too cold, the streetlamps dimmed by more than rain—

Several people screamed from behind him, but he couldn't turn to look; several Dementors had drifted out of the darkness near the side street ahead, and, if they didn't seem intent on hunting him, they didn't particularly look like they'd mind feeding on him, either. Perfect. As if he could summon anything resembling a positive memory at the moment—

And it showed, his Patronus bright, but rather unstable, a limb or the flash of a short tail only appearing occasionally through a formless mist. Damn it, come on…

The Dementors turned and fled when a second Patronus joined his, a wolf, snarling and snapping at their rotting cloaks. Severus froze for a moment before scowling and looking around—Lupin would never let him live this down, in his own stupidly polite way.

"Oi, are you all—Snape? What are you doing here?"

He blinked. It wasn't Lupin at all. "Nymphadora. What are you doing here?"

"Sitting out off-duty," she said, moving closer and frowning. "Good thing, I s'pose. Seems like Dawlish could use a few more hands. How many more are there?"

"No idea," Severus said, already turning back towards the screaming behind him. "Though I suspect more than those few."

"Right." She sent off another silvery wolf in that direction and kept her wand raised as they headed back up the high street. Severus glanced sideways at her.

"Since when has your Patronus—"

"None of your business," she said shortly, and despite her being on high alert at the moment, he knew he'd struck a nerve. She swore and began to run as another silvery shape became clear around the corner. "I think that's Ab. Lend a wand or don't, Snape, make up your mind!"

"I'm here, aren't I?" he snapped, close behind. As long as his cover for being out of the castle was already blown… He just hoped Aberforth wouldn't start asking questions.

The old wizard had sent off the remainder of the Dementors from the street and was shouting at a knot of patrons trying to cram their way back into his doorway.

"They're gone, now, off you go! Pub's closed for the evening! Bloody useless…" He spotted Tonks, who was still scanning the area for remaining threats, and snorted. "Aurors are here, you'll get home safe, go on—Tonks! Where the hell have you all been hiding? Fucking Dementors having a field day—"

"Don't look at me, I was up by Scrivenshaft's dealing with them there—off duty, mind—"

"What use are all the Aurors monitoring the village like a bloody war camp if they can't keep out a few Dementors? Bleeding useless, didn't see a single Patronus other than yours and whoever you've brought with you—"

"That would be me," Severus said shortly. He kept half an eye on Tonks' restless patrolling, though he moved closer to the shelter offered by the eaves of the Hog's Head, thoroughly unamused. If this was how the posted Aurors responded to a few Dementors, they would be even more worthless should the Dark Lord decide to send Death Eaters. "I don't suppose either of you would care to explain what's happened?"

"You, is it?" Aberforth grunted. "S'pose we could have worse. Can't say much, as no one knows, really. Plenty of Dementors, but obviously you've seen that. As long as there's not more of your lot running around out here too."

"They're not my lot," Severus said, gritting his teeth. "And I knew nothing about this. It's equally likely they've swarmed on their own."

Aberforth snorted, but Tonks chose that moment to join them, shaking her head. "Might've been, but who knows. There were an awful lot of them. Thirty or so round where I was, before, must've been about ten by you, Snape? No idea about here or the rest, I've sent for a report from Billings but I can't say whether he'll answer. I'm not officially here."

"Somebody'll be getting around to telling my brother eventually," Aberforth said. "Much prefer if it were you, though. Or is that why you're here, Snape?"

"He didn't hear about a disturbance and send me, if that's what you're asking," Severus said. He cast an eye around the street again; the lamps had been restored, though it was eerily quiet. "I'm here of my own accord."

"Bit late for a drink, isn't it?"

Tonks huffed. "Never mind that. An extra wand is an extra wand, even if you missed most of the fun." She pushed her flattened hair out of her face and frowned. "I'm assuming it was only a few Dementors? No other unwelcome visitors?"

"I've heard nothing to suggest otherwise," Severus said. Not that that means much anymore, apparently, he added silently.

Aberforth eyed him for a moment, but nodded. "I'll check in with Rosmerta," he said gruffly. "Those things give her the willies at the best of times, never mind now, when they're out doing God knows what… And if they brought backup, I'd think Death Eaters would be more likely knocking at her door than mine."

"Good idea," said Tonks. "I'll try to get hold of Billings again and send word to Dumbledore before he gets the 'official' report… probably should go up to the castle, too, just in case."

Perfect. Albus was definitely going to ask questions. Severus sighed. "I suppose you'd rather I wait for you?"

"You can do what you want, but that would be helpful," Tonks said. "Ah, there he is—OI!"

Billings, it turned out, was a well-built man at least twenty years Severus's senior, a sodden mane of tawny hair and greying beard not hiding his irritated expression. Severus wondered if the resemblance to Scrimgeour was intentional.

"What are you doing here?" Billings snapped, scanning their surroundings before giving Tonks the full force of his frown. "You're off duty, and the middle of a Dementor attack isn't the time to be messaging me and expecting—"

"I was messaging to see if you needed backup, you dolt," Tonks said easily. "I was in the area and saw Dawlish's distress signal. Got held up on the way to responding."

"Did you?"

Severus tightened his grip on his wand; he didn't miss how Billings's eyes raked over him, lingering on his left forearm.

"Of course I did—you didn't think the Dementors just ignored this side of the village, did you?" Tonks snorted, casually stepping closer to him. "Come on, mate. Use your head. I expect this shit from Dawlish, not from you."

Billings scowled, but conceded the point. "Still, I've had plenty to do without keeping any of the off-duty contingent informed."

Tonks shook her head. "I'm not just asking for news. I know Dumbledore, and he'll be wanting an update if Dawlish sent word to Moody like he was supposed to first thing—"

"No need," said Billings shortly. "I've already sent word. Dawlish and I will be going up to the castle once we've got final secure status—just waiting on the east end. There's nothing left for you to do; you should leave."

"Can't do that, mate," countered Tonks. "I'm on escort duty now. Hogwarts professor going back to the castle, and all."

Severus had to hand it to her—she was in her element with the Aurors, and much more fluid at deception than he'd given her credit for in the past, though he didn't appreciate it at the expense of his apparent competence. He hid his seething behind a glare at Billings, who eyed him with mistrust.

"If he's willing to wait, we can take him—"

"Come on, Billings—"

"I specifically requested Auror Tonks," Severus cut in, figuring he might as well go along with it, "so as not to inconvenience those of you here in an official capacity. God knows you've enough to do, clearing up after a Dementor attack that was so badly mishandled as you've managed it."

Tonks' slightly pleased look that he'd been so quick on the uptake immediately dissolved into an eye roll. "Exactly. You don't want to listen to his sorry arse have a go all the way back to the castle, do you? Had a bit to drink, you know. Doubt he's in the mood for niceties."

Billings's scowl had returned. "Perhaps he could do with the reminder that it's best to keep a civil tongue to members of the Auror Office," he said stiffly, "regardless of whether Dumbledore sees no issue with allowing his staff out for drinks on a school night."

"Don't get me wrong. He's not disorderly."

Yet, Severus nearly added, glaring back at Billings. Though if you keep talking, Tonks, I might be.

Billings blinked first, distracted by something over the rooftops. "He'll have the walk back to prove it. That was the signal—all clear. Looks like we'll be accompanying you anyway."

He turned away and started down the high street. Severus waited a few moments before following, daring a glance at Tonks and not bothering to disguise his exasperation. Really?

Thanks. Sorry, she mouthed, abruptly seeming her usual clumsy self again. He sighed, but shrugged—it wasn't as though he had a good reputation to lose with the Auror Office, anyway.

He was much more concerned with what Albus was going to say—so much for having a few hours outside the castle undetected. Surely even Minerva wouldn't have been able to keep him from noticing something amiss, once reports from the village had come in—and Severus could hardly avoid meeting him on the trip back now.

Dawlish looked equally concerned to see his planned entourage expanded by two, but made no comment on it; they squelched along the muddy path back to Hogwarts in relative silence. Severus was neither surprised nor pleased to see Hagrid's towering form waiting for them at the gates.

"Bin expectin' yeh. Professor Dumbledore said 'e gave yeh a password?"

"Constant vigilance," Dawlish said, annoyed, and Tonks let out a snort of laughter. Severus doubted that had been Moody's idea—it had probably been Dumbledore's way of providing lightness along with a subtle rebuke.

Hagrid nodded and tapped the gates with his battered (and absurdly closed) umbrella, the chains barring them sliding free immediately. If he was surprised by the additional members of the party, he said nothing, but he did follow them up to the castle like a great hairy watchdog once the gates were secure.

"Thanks, Hagrid," said Tonks, hesitating to allow the other Aurors through the castle doors first. "Remind me to—OI!"

She abruptly disappeared from view, tugged into the castle by a gnarled hand. Severus blinked, but cautiously followed her, scowling when he was confronted by the business end of a wand.

"What the fuck, Moody—" he started icily, but Alastor snarled and made a vaguely threatening gesture towards Tonks as well.

"We were only expecting those two," he growled, his magical eye swivelling towards Dawlish and Billings. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here," Severus snapped, but Tonks nearly drowned him out.

"I sent word, Moody. Dumbledore is expecting—"

"He didn't say when we last spoke only minutes ago," Alastor said grimly. "Dementor attack in the village, confusion in the ranks… I have plenty of reason to suspect you're not who you say you are. Especially him."

"Come off it—"

"You won't mind sharing your Patronus, then, until I can confirm—"

"It's a wolf," Tonks said shortly. "And you know only a few know that. Wand down, please."

"And can anyone confirm it's you who cast it?"

Severus huffed. "I can. I didn't know the form before I saw it today."

"Gave me shit about it, too."

"He's even more suspect," Alastor snarled. "That doesn't prove—"

"Gentlemen. Auror Tonks."

Albus had arrived on the staircase, pausing at the scene before him; Minerva trailed a few steps in his wake, wearing the unmistakably harassed look of someone whose plans had fallen apart within the last few minutes. It was useless to try to communicate anything to her at the moment—Severus didn't want to take his eyes off Moody's wand for too long, anyway—but as long as she could think quickly…

Albus frowned in their direction. "Is there a problem, Alastor?"

"You said we were expecting two. We got four."

"Dawlish, Billings, of course," said Albus, nodding towards them, "and Auror Tonks, as well—I'm afraid her message did not reach me before you had left my office, Alastor."

"All right." Alastor nodded stiffly. "Doesn't explain him."

Severus felt on the verge of strangling him. "I went out. For a drink." He avoided Albus's piercing look. "Auror Tonks can confirm—"

"Oh? She was with you from the time you left the castle, then?"

"No," Severus said through gritted teeth, "but—"

"It's him, Moody. Trust me," said Tonks. Alastor shook his head.

"It's not that simple. There's no record of the real Snape being out of the castle, we don't know if—"

"I'm afraid that's my doing, Alastor," said Minerva. "It was rather last minute, but he had clearance to leave."

Alastor frowned. "Albus?"

"I was not aware of it, but—"

"I sanctioned it," Minerva said crossly, "earlier this evening, as I did Septima and Aurora's request for a few hours away for a drink as well. Really, this is ridiculous. There was an army of Dementors at our doorstep, and you're questioning our own staff?"

Alastor didn't lower his wand. "Necessary precaution. The way I understand it, there were too many things that went wrong for us and right for them not to look into everything out of the ordinary. Too many coincidences."

Billings nodded in agreement. "I apologise for the inconvenience, Dumbledore, but perhaps if you could verify the location of all your staff? For the sake of expediency?"

Albus did not look particularly pleased, but he paused a moment, presumably reviewing the castle wards. Severus dared another glance at Minerva—she met his eyes with a nearly inscrutable look of her own. He owed her; that much was certain, at least.

"All of my staff are indeed accounted for," said Albus finally. "And there does not appear to be anyone here who should not be, although it is true that the wards are not entirely foolproof in that respect."

"Told you," Tonks muttered, still frowning at Moody. "You know my Patronus, and I saw his—can we move on?"

Alastor finally lowered his wand, though his good eye was still narrowed in suspicion. "Oh? And what might his be, then?"

"Absolutely none of your business, seeing as you weren't aware of it before," said Severus coldly. His head ached; it was becoming a greater effort by the second to keep his patience from snapping entirely. "Now—I was under the impression that the headmaster wished to meet with our visiting Aurors. Perhaps, in the interest of time, you might finally allow them to do so? Save your misgivings about me until a point they might actually be relevant?"

"An excellent idea," Minerva said crisply. "And unless you think it necessary for me to stay, Albus, I need to finish rounds for the evening."

Albus nodded, but Severus didn't like the calculating gleam in his eyes. "I think, gentlemen, we have kept my teachers from their duties—and you from yours—long enough for the night, so if we may?"

His voice was polite, but it could not have been more obvious that it wasn't a request. Dawlish fairly scuttled up the staircase, meeting Minerva's rather contemptuous frown as she passed him halfway; Billings followed him with slightly more dignity, Tonks close behind, looking grim. Alastor still seemed as though he wanted to argue, but made his slow way up the stairs after them without another word.

Minerva waited until the sound of his wooden leg had faded before speaking. "I'm sorry—Albus hadn't noticed, but once the alarm came from Hogsmeade—"

Severus shook his head. "That's not your fault. It was simply poor timing. Neither of us could have known I'd be returning in the middle of a Dementor attack."

He neglected to mention that he might have avoided it altogether if he hadn't spent so long collecting himself before heading back to the castle. Still, there was nothing to be done about it now. Apparently Minerva felt the same, as she sighed.

"Was your meeting… successful, at least?"

"In a sense." His mind had stopped reeling, but he had a feeling that would only last for as long as he consciously gave it little thought. "Nothing urgent, but no good news, of course."

"There were no casualties in the village tonight," she said quietly. "I know that's not much, but it's something. Plenty of people shaken, certainly, but perhaps that's for the best." She eyed him at the non-committal noise that had escaped him in response. "Are you all right?"

"I'm—" He hesitated. She made it sound sincere, when she asked—and she was one of the few who did. He should have been annoyed; it was still nothing but a platitude; she could obviously see he wasn't hurt and hopefully she was clever enough to realise that no good news meant exactly what he'd said, not to mention being confronted by Aurors and the prospect of explaining himself to Albus in the near future—but he couldn't bring himself to snap at her. He shook his head and surreptitiously dried his robes with a flick of his wand, suddenly exhausted.

"I'm fine."

She eyed him for a long moment, but didn't press. "I'll see you tomorrow, then. I do need to finish rounds."

"Of course."

He turned towards his dungeons, trying to push aside the thought that their next conversation would probably detail what, precisely, he owed her for covering for him as much as she had. He wanted to sleep—no, he wanted a hot bath. He would hardly be able to sleep if he went to bed feeling this cold.

He cursed the Dementors and his own wretched timing for the hundredth time as he warded his rooms for the night and climbed into the tub. There was no excuse for him to have been caught off guard so badly. Even Narcissa's news (and he refused to dwell on it any more than calling it that) shouldn't have shaken him to the point where he'd not only wasted precious minutes, but been unable to properly defend himself. God, that hadn't happened since—

"Professor Snape, sir!"

He was saved an undignified shriek only by slipping in his haste to reach for his wand at the sudden crack; when he resurfaced from his bathwater, spluttering, it was only to see a house elf staring at him in horror.

"Nimsy is sorry!" she squealed. "I is very, very sorry for startling Sir! I is not meaning—"

"What the hell are you doing here?" he roared. He doubted he looked very threatening at the moment, still trying to push his hair out of his eyes, but his heart was thumping a million miles an hour and god forbid, if Albus wanted to summon him for a talk now— "Fuck. What do you want?"

"Nimsy is sorry," she squeaked again, shrinking into her tea towel. "I is—I is bringing this—Mistress is saying Sir might be needing—"

"What I need," he snarled, "is not to have any more fucking heart attacks tonight. Christ."

He ran a hand over his face, disgusted to find he was actually shaking somewhat. It was a house elf. Just Minerva's house elf. She would probably be on him for scaring it, if he didn't get hold of himself.

"Nimsy is very, very sorry." The elf sounded near tears. He took a breath and tried not to glare as he turned to her.

"Never mind. Just—whatever it is, just put it there."

He indicated the ledge of the tub and sank back into the water, feeling a slight twinge of shame as Nimsy delivered a steaming mug of hot chocolate with trembling hands—but he was far too rattled to consider a proper apology.

"Is—is Sir needing anything else?" she whispered.

"No. You may go."

He technically wasn't her master, but she disappeared at once; he hoped it wasn't to wail to Minerva about his temper. But then, he doubted Minerva had told her to intrude on his bath, either—though it was still odd she'd sent him anything at all. He sighed and willed away his remaining alarm, pleasantly surprised when the drink warmed him better than the bath had, though he still could have done without the shock. Whatever Minerva had meant by it, the chocolate was almost worth it.

Almost.

Minerva was surprised how little she heard of the Dementor attack, given that she had nearly immediately posted fliers postponing the first Hogsmeade weekend. Then again, it seemed fewer students were reading the Daily Prophet these days, only scouring for relatives' names when they did, and the small piece about Hogsmeade was conveniently hidden on the ninth page.

Alastor, too, had been mysteriously quiet about the matter at breakfast, although Septima had arrived in her office door after lunch and flatly refused to chaperone any future outings to the village.

"Minerva, I'm sorry—you know very well I'm willing to do my share, but I won't go back into the village until someone can guarantee that this or worse won't happen again."

"We're already not allowing the students until after an investigation—"

"We shouldn't be allowing the students at all! Merlin, I wasn't even there at the time, but it was far too close. The Aurors fell to pieces, as I hear it."

"That—isn't entirely accurate." Minerva rubbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles, fighting the urge to huff. "There was some miscommunication at first, but—"

Septima snorted. "Some miscommunication! It could have cost people their lives, it could still cost the students—"

"For heaven's sake, even if we weren't already postponing this weekend, visiting hours are in broad daylight," said Minerva stiffly. "I understand you've had a near miss, and I of course will not force you to go—but if and when we decide to reinstate the outings, which I can assure you will not be until after a full review of last night's events—I hope you will reconsider."

Septima's mouth thinned, and she spent a long moment fiddling with her hat, but she shook her head. "I will think about it. That is all I can promise."

"Thank you."

"Do not count on anything more than that."

"I know."

Minerva resisted the temptation to hurl a book at Septima's retreating back. She couldn't blame her for her fear, but if the rest of the staff refused to cooperate because of this incident as well…

The castle bells said she still had most of an entire free period, so she gathered up her nearly-weaponised book, deciding to return it and stop in the Restricted Section for a few minutes of research. It would be fruitless, she was sure, but she couldn't bear the thought of leaving anything unexplored if there was the slightest chance Albus's injury could be helped.

She wandered through the shelves again, picking out the books she'd been skimming last time; a few of those had seemed halfway promising, at least. By the sound of the muffled grumbling coming from the next row over, Severus was already back at their table and having less luck.

"…of course not." There was a pause, then a muffled thud, and his voice raised several degrees. "For fuck's sake, Minerva, if you're not going to help me, then at least have the courtesy to get your arse off my—"

"Severus, what on earth are you…?" she started angrily, but trailed off as she rounded the corner and understood; Severus froze, looking blankly between her and the tabby cat planted on one of his open books before he buried his face in his hands.

"That… isn't you."

"I'm afraid not, no." She refrained from asking just how long he'd been talking to "her"—judging by the deep flush just visible from behind his fingers, it had been long enough for him to consider it sufficiently embarrassing. In fairness, the cat did bear a remarkable resemblance to her Animagus form, even sporting similar (if a bit less defined) markings around the eyes. It stared back at her smugly as she raised an eyebrow at it.

"And just where did you come from?" she said.

The cat slowly got to its feet, stretching, then jumped down and ran off behind a bookshelf before Minerva could blink. She sighed and thumped her books onto the table.

"Well, then. Any luck?"

"Of course not." Severus's voice was slightly muffled, but his skin had mostly returned to its usual pallor by the time he removed his hands from his face. "I hesitate to call our library useless, but…"

Minerva wasn't listening; her eyes had fallen on the book the cat had vacated and something in her brain refused to process coherent thought for a good several moments.

"…Minerva?"

"Sorry," she said slowly, "I'm just… assuming something took a very odd turn in the last few hours, and there's a perfectly logical connection between fertility potions and cursed artefacts that currently escapes me?"

Severus rolled his eyes. "Not at all, actually. Well spotted." He gestured to several stacks of potion books mixed in with the Dark Arts. "Although, as I recall, I am perfectly at my leisure to research more than one topic at a time."

For a moment, he sounded more like he had in happier times—when their bickering was at least half for show—and not the tired, snappish creature that had replaced him in the past year. Minerva hid a smile, though she couldn't resist poking back a bit.

"Of course, although I'm afraid I won't be of much help to you there, so if you would prefer that I 'have the courtesy to get my arse off your—?'"

"I apologise," he said quickly, the slightest bit of pink returning to his cheeks. "I suppose it is fortunate that I was not actually speaking to you, but—"

"Quite right, although I have certainly heard worse."

She could have sworn he almost smirked. "I wouldn't dare."

"Yes, you're daring rather enough with that, I expect." She nodded to the book again, hesitating, but the obvious question would come up soon enough anyway, so… "I don't suppose you'll tell me what exactly you're doing with—"

"No."

"Not for class, then."

"Certainly not."

"That's probably for the best. Although—"

"Minerva. If I tell you, will you let me get on with it?"

The edge was back in his voice; she sighed. My fault. "Yes. Though you needn't if you truly don't want to."

He snorted. "I'm aware how it must look given the location of my errand last night, but it's hardly anything so sordid. I thought perhaps the Dark Lord's potion might share similarities with one of these, but I haven't found anything." He scowled at the book again. "Or, at least, I haven't found anything in the limited time I haven't had a cat sitting on my research."

"Maybe there's still hope, then."

"Maybe," he agreed, though his face said the opposite. He fell silent and buried himself in his work again, appearing not to notice when she paused hers to leave for her next class. She frowned almost all the way back to her classroom.

Another project of his… goodness. At this rate, Horace's assistance wouldn't just be a wise idea, but a necessity.

But that was a fight for another day.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving me a comment or two. I know I'm technically writing this for myself and not for reviews, but given the low priority I've had to assign to myself lately, it's a lot easier for me to write faster if I know it's not just me shouting into the abyss. ;)