Touching the Untouchable

Author's note: I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I hope this LOOONG chapter makes up for the pain I've caused you! I really appreciate you guys reading this! (It is true...we hurt the ones we love...)
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Touching the Untouchable by Graballz Chapter 6 Revelations


Hedwig fluttered uncomfortably on Dumbledore’s desk chair. Being an owl, she didn’t quite understand the intricacies and motives for suicide, or death in general, for that matter; she DID know, though, that something very, very bad was happening, and (call it an ‘owl’s intuition’) she knew that her master would not be her master anymore if help was not gotten. She landed on Harry’s upturned shoulder, softly nipping at his ear. His breathing was faint, and an unknown fear took a hold of her little owl brain. Hedwig was very intelligent for an owl, and the way she responded to Harry was uncanny. She loved the little black-haired boy with the big green eyes from the time she was given to him by Hagrid, at age eleven, and she had watched him grow into the strong, confident young man he had been. Hedwig didn’t grasp the details of the war or what happened, but she knew that her young master had been changed forever. He always had a kind word and a treat for her, and she took care of him as best she knew how. Now, though, seeing him on the floor, practically unconscious, Hedwig was very uncertain about what was going on.

If she could speak, the snowy owl might have described her day as ‘surreal’, beginning with the mean blonde boy’s seemingly heartfelt speech. She knew that boy well; she had watched him mature as well. She had listened to many a rant from her master about the cruelty and suffering that he and his friends had endured, thanks to the ‘bloody Slytherin prat’. Lately, though, whenever her master had confided in her, he HAD confessed to disliking his rival a lot less this year…which didn’t mean that he LIKED the blonde one, but just that he wasn’t as mean as he had been. If Hedwig indeed possessed a quality of self-awareness, she might have called herself a ‘good judge of character’, and in her owl estimation, the blonde one had been telling the truth about her master potentially being in trouble.

Now she was glad (if owls had such feelings) that she had accepted the message from the blonde boy, because it had led her to her master, who was in grave trouble. He hadn’t responded to her questioning nips, and she was worried. The blonde boy had said he was worried about her master as well, and she saw the Marauder’s Map sticking out from the fallen young man’s pocket. She had a vague idea of what it was for, but she was certain that if she took it to the blonde, he would be able to help. Armed with a plan, Hedwig swooped down and, with difficulty, grasped the Map in her talons and tugged it free. She took off, heading unerringly for the open window to Slytherin’s dorms.

* * * * * *

Draco sat in his favorite chair in the commons room. His Slytherin patience had failed him—when one is cunning and sneaky, one must be prepared to wait for the perfect moment—but patience had never been one of Draco’s strong points. He took to pacing around the room a few times before flopping back into his chair in a huff. There was a Quidditch match this afternoon between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, but Draco couldn't have cared less. However, he had verbally encouraged and even slightly threatened most of Slytherin into going; well, the threats really only worked on the first-, second-, and third-years. The fourth- and fifth-years had pretty much learned to just do what Draco said without question—having experienced the consequences of Draco’s threats carried out before, and the sixth-years and his fellow seventh-years obeyed him out of sheer respect. It meant that he had the commons room to himself, and those Slytherins who insisted on staying behind had dutifully locked themselves in their rooms to avoid their prefect’s ire.

Draco’s world was mercifully interrupted as Hedwig came careening through the open window, having to struggle to put the brakes on before she crashed into the opposite wall. She circled and frantically dropped the Map into Draco’s lap, landing on the back of the chair and nipping frantically at his ear. Unaccustomed to Hedwig’s nonverbal way of communication, Draco cringed away from her at first. He didn’t have much experience with snowy owls, since his own family’s owl was an eagle owl, but he didn’t think they were supposed to be as agitated as Hedwig appeared to be. He looked down at the map, trying to make sense of it, expressing his confusion aloud as if he expected Hedwig to be able to explain it to him.

“What is this? Wait, is this Harry’s? Hedwig, did he get my letter?” Draco leaned forward and opened the tube, pulling out the still-sealed letter and frowning. Hedwig flitted from the back of the chair to the arm and began a controlled pecking at the Map that lay open on Draco’s lap. He looked at her curiously, finally noticing that she was indicating one particular spot. He peered at the Map.

“Dumbledore’s office? Okay, there’s a dot in the office. Dumbledore, right?” Draco raised his eyebrow at the owl, suddenly realizing that he was having a conversation as if she were a person. Hedwig huffed at him and nipped the Map where the Hospital Wing was located. Draco followed her beak with his finger, unsure of what she was trying to communicate.

“Dumbledore’s in the…Hospital Wing? Still? So then who is in…” his voice trailed off as Hedwig nearly bounced at his comprehension. She firmly grabbed the sleeve of his sweater in her beak and began to fly backwards, tugging the cloth urgently. For reasons Draco couldn’t explain at that moment, he broke out into a cold sweat as the owl’s apparent panic transferred to him. “Okay, Hedwig, let’s go!” Draco leaped to his feet and spoke the password. As soon as he stepped into the hallway, Hedwig, flying before him, took off at a breakneck pace, and Draco’s insides twisted themselves into a knot as he sprinted after her towards the Headmaster’s office.

* * * * * *

Albus Dumbledore sat in a conjured chair next to Minerva McGonagall’s bed. He hadn’t felt as old as he did right then in a long time, and he sighed, a sound that was aged with a lifetime of unimaginable horrors, blind faith, and stubborn hope that one day, things would be better. As the Headmaster, Albus prided himself on keeping his finger on the pulse of Hogwarts, staying up-to-date with the rumor mill, which sometimes held more truth than one might imagine, and most importantly, keeping an eye on Harry Potter. The blessed lad had indeed killed Voldemort, but, sometimes Albus wondered, at what cost to himself? Before the war, the poor thing had trained and struggled along as best he knew how; Merlin knows Draco Malfoy didn’t make it any easier on the Boy Who Lived, but Albus had a hunch that the young Malfoy, who was now the Lord Malfoy, had a good streak in him that Lucius hadn’t been able to extinguish. Severus Snape, Albus’ longtime friend, confidante, and spy in the war against the Dark Lord, had informed the Headmaster of young Malfoy’s task last year: kill Albus Dumbledore.

Snape had griped about how it would be easier to just take out the brat, godchild or no, than risk gambling on his pampered arse. Albus had watched the young blonde, though; he had seen the way the boy looked at the world when he thought he was unobserved. Albus hadn’t seen a monster or a spoiled brat; he had seen a very confused and troubled young man trying valiantly to figure out what was expected of him and how he fit into the world. Both Malfoy and Snape probably would have fallen over in shock if they knew, but Albus had a bit more Slytherin in him than he ever let show; he knew the way the boy looked at Harry Potter. Not necessarily in a sexual context, considering that they were both only eleven when they first met, and first became enemies, but as they grew up, Albus saw the way Draco observed Harry with his friends, and how Harry reacted quite strongly to Draco. He knew that the Boy Who Lived had caught the young Malfoy in his quiet web of charisma, as Harry did to all who met him, even if he didn’t know it. Harry Potter was so sweet and earnest and unassuming that everyone who met him, especially older women who liked to gush and pinch cheeks, was instantly enamored of him. That was why Albus didn’t try harder to stop their childhood rivalry; if Albus had pulled the lifeline of Harry Potter away from Draco, it might very well have sealed the blonde’s fate-worse-than-death. As much as Harry complained about Draco, Albus made the sacrifice of a slight inconvenience to Potter in order to save Draco from his destiny. Besides, Potter had held his own against the Slytherin, so no real harm was done.

Albus had known about the assassination plot, and he placed his entire bet on the fact that, when it came down to it, Draco wouldn’t have been able to do it. Albus hadn’t lost; it was a hard and horrible night, carrying out the plan he had made with Severus. When Draco admitted his weakness, Snape had stepped in and acted his part like a professional. He played the Death Eater, forcing the Headmaster to drink the ‘poisonous’ potion he had concocted and then using Avada Kedavra to make it seem believable. In truth, the potion had been a unique blend of a Draught of Peace and Fire Protection Potion that none other than Snape, potions master that he was, could have come up with.

As confident as Albus seemed to his students, he confessed to his friend that a Calming Draught would be helpful for that night, and Severus had included the protection against fire just in case Albus didn’t quite Portkey in time. They had hatched a brilliant plan; the bottle was a one-way Portkey to a safe and undisclosed location. Pulling the stopper would activate the Portkey, but Severus had poked a hole in it so that Albus would be able to pretend to pull the stopper and drink the potion, and then whenever the Death-Eater-turned-spy uttered the Killing Curse, Albus would pull the actual stopper and Portkey, but to anyone watching, it would seem like he had been killed instantly and disappeared. Albus was counting on both Harry—who, unfortunately, was there and had to be contained with Petrificus Totalus, lest he interfere—and Draco to be too caught up in the horror of the moment to recognize the incorrect incantation that Severus used, so that even if Albus hadn’t Portkeyed, he still wouldn’t have been killed by the Unforgivable.

Either way, the plan had worked perfectly; the boys’ reactions were completely real, although Albus didn’t realize until later just how traumatized Harry had been at the time. Word had made it back to Voldemort that Albus was dead, killed not by the young Malfoy, but by the seasoned Death Eater; it mattered not since the main goal was accomplished, but young Malfoy’s failure was not forgotten by the Dark Lord, until he faced Harry Potter and lost. Albus remembered the shocked relief on Harry’s face when he returned to find his supposedly dead mentor waiting for him with open arms; luckily, Albus hadn’t had to be in hiding very long. As soon as Voldemort had died, his right hand, Lucius Malfoy, had been sentenced to the Kiss, and that had been hard on Draco. The heir to the Malfoy fortune was more appreciative than Albus expected, after their talk; Albus had taken another chance and made the suggestion that perhaps Draco and Harry were more alike than they each knew, and that Draco should cease his malicious teasing in favor of friendly ribbing because it might just lead to their being friends. Draco had taken it to heart, and Albus was pleased to observe the difference in the dynamic between the two once-bitter enemies.

He was aware of the parties held by Gryffindor; as the Headmaster, he couldn’t endorse them, but as long as no one got hurt, Albus was content to let the students govern themselves as they saw fit. He had been concerned at first about how Harry would function after fulfilling his part in saving the world, but the parties seemed like a good way for him to just act his age, for once. The dark-haired boy had been rather quiet and withdrawn since returning to Hogwarts; he didn’t visit Albus as regularly as before, and he wondered if perhaps Harry was struggling to find his place. Since Draco had ceased to incite mayhem, Harry had also mellowed towards his childhood rival; the Headmaster had not been around students without learning how their minds worked, and in the back of his mind, he was curious to see where that fledgling tolerance would go.

Albus knew that there had been a party last night, and by the looks of the scene at lunch, something awful had happened between the Golden Trio. In all of his years, Albus had seen and done some fairly shocking things, but the spat between Ron and Harry had managed to surprise him. And then the youngest male Weasley had taken that surprise to a new level when he unexpectedly punched Minerva in the face. As Head of Gryffindor, it was her responsibility to oversee house feuds and the like, but in hindsight, Albus recognized that he himself should have approached the outraged Mr. Weasley. If he had, perhaps Minerva wouldn’t be in the state she was in now.

Albus rubbed a weathered hand over his face and tucked his fist under his chin again. They were lucky that Poppy Pomfrey was present; while Albus might have been a more powerful wizard, Poppy was an exceptionally skilled Healer. She had managed to stabilize Minerva in seconds after she went down, something that even the most talented of Muggle doctors could not lay claim to, even though Minerva’s neck was, indeed, broken. They had brought the Transfigurations professor immediately to the Hospital Wing, where Poppy had continued her spell-casting, fixing as much of the damage as she could. She still decided to put Minerva in a Muggle neck brace to restrict her movements, if she even woke up. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger had followed the trio to the Hospital Wing and waited until Poppy was finished tending to Minerva, which had been quite a long time.

He still had Ronald’s wand, given to him by Seamus on the order of Neville Longbottom who, quite astonishingly, had easily assumed command in the absence of the prefects’ leadership. Albus had long suspected that Neville had the leadership ability in him; the Headmaster had tried to impart his own support in quiet ways over the years, but Neville had come into his own during the Final Battle. Being selected by Ron to assist in the security of the Gryffindor parties had sealed the deal, and Albus was pleased that Ron’s belief in the Longbottom lad had reaped great benefits.

* * * * * *

Poppy had placed Ron and Hermione in a nearby room, giving them each a Calming Draught. Surprisingly, it had taken a double shot to bring Ms. Granger around; the poor dear had been practically hysterical as soon as the shouting began. They were both very tight-lipped over what had happened and why, citing it was a ‘Gryffindor matter’ and would be handled internally. The two Gryffindors had long suspected that Madam Pomfrey had been a Ravenclaw; she had a very no-nonsense attitude—even more so than Hermione’s—she was unnaturally adept at Healing (which indicated a predisposition to intense study of the healing arts), and she kept her wits about her in a crisis, three Ravenclaw traits. Ron stated emphatically that they would discuss this matter with no one, save Dumbledore. Ron, for his part, seemed properly contrite and genuinely regretful of his encounter with Minerva. Poppy had prodded him about his exchange with Harry, but the red-head had completely clammed up, refusing to even acknowledge the name, save for a murderous glint that entered his eye.

Poppy had done all she could for Minerva, given that the woman’s neck was twisted and broken from Ron’s blow. She had managed, by spell, to realign the cartilage and discs in Minerva’s spine, as well as stabilize her vital signs as well as any Muggle hospital. Now, it was in Merlin’s hands; only time would tell if Professor McGonagall would wake up. Poppy had placed an ordinary brace on the woman so that if she woke up, she wouldn’t reinjure her neck. Albus had inquired about the potential use of an Enervate, and Poppy had had to put the kibosh on that one immediately. It might be of use in a few days, but in her weakened state, Poppy was fairly certain that it would do more harm than good to force Minerva from the body’s natural process of healing: the coma.

The school nurse checked in on Albus one last time; he hadn’t moved since she left. He still sat, staring blindly in front of him, with his chin in his hands. He barely stirred when she quietly opened the door. Poppy fixed a tea tray and left it on the small bedside table so that he could have a cuppa. She informed the couple that it could be a while before the Headmaster was ready to speak with them, but they politely requested to be allowed to stay. Ron was especially insistent, given that Professor McGonagall’s condition was his fault, and Poppy relented. She left a tray with tea and biscuits in the room for them, admonishing Hermione that she should eat, even if it was just a little. Poppy returned to her own desk and sat down to take a breather, conjuring up just one more cup of tea for herself. She absently stirred in milk and sugar, wondering where the day would take them next.

* * * * * *

Draco arrived at the statue of the gargoyle, blowing harder than he’d ever in his life. He figured out right away that he didn’t know the password to make the staircase open. He glanced helplessly up at Hedwig, who seemed to glare down at him as if to say, ‘You’re the wizard! Get in there!’ On the edge of despair, Draco had a sudden flash of inspiration. He could hear the Charms professor, Flitwick, carrying on and on about the dangers of using this spell improperly, since it was used to remove obstacles from a wizard’s path. Draco pulled his wand and stepped back a little, muttering a silent apology to Dumbledore and the gargoyle.

“Reducto!” he cried. Not an instant later, an explosion made him shield his eyes. He saw Hedwig dive and felt her attach herself to the back of his sweater for protection. He didn’t wait for the smoke to clear before he saw the unrestricted staircase. Draco threw himself forward, taking the stairs two at a time, hollering Harry’s name. He burst into Dumbledore’s office, mildly surprised that it wasn’t locked, and took in the scene that lay before him. He could see a pair of legs sticking out behind the desk; Draco hurried into the room and froze. The skin on the blonde’s face was naturally pale; even when he blushed, the pink color was a pastel; but looking upon Harry’s prone body in a pool of blood made him turn about three shades whiter.

“No,” Draco whispered, falling to his knees. Harry lay on his side, and he was completely unresponsive when Draco rolled him onto his back, shoving the knife under the desk violently. His normally sparkling green eyes were absolutely empty, and Draco just about gave in to panic when he realized that Harry was still breathing…but just barely. He picked up Harry’s cut left wrist and casted Episkey over and over, watching the pink muscle vanish as the tanned flesh molded itself back together. Harry had lost a lot of blood; Draco lunged for the quill and parchment on Dumbledore’s desk, penning a quick letter to Snape asking for as many Blood-Replenishing Potions as he had. In the panic of the moment, Draco didn’t even think to call for Madam Pomfrey; in his mind, Harry needed a Blood-Replenishing Potion, and quickly, and potions equaled Snape. He rolled the note with shaking hands and called Hedwig. He thrust the cap onto the tube and blurted out a quick order, “Get Snape”, before returning to Harry’s side, pulling the black-haired boy’s head into his lap.

It was then that Draco felt the tears come, and his body shuddered with sobs as he smoothed his hands over Harry’s unruly hair and slack face. He didn’t realize how attached he had become to Harry until he was faced with losing him; in that instant, Draco Malfoy undeniably knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Harry Potter, and the probability of that wish NOT coming true scared him to the deepest place in his soul.

* * * * * *

“What in Merlin’s name happened here?” the unmistakable sound of the Potions Master’s voice made Draco raise his head. Snape didn’t sound angry or upset, just very, very sad; and Draco saw his godfather’s eyes widen at the sight of tears streaming unbidden down young Lord Malfoy’s face. Snape’s eyes went to the body of his least favorite student, whose head was cradled in his godson’s loving embrace. He knelt beside the boys, opening the briefcase he brought. He pulled out several bottles and a funnel, wordlessly administering the potions. Hedwig fluttered back into the room, this time perched on Fawkes’ old stand, waiting to see what became of her young master.

Draco choked on a fresh set of tears as the Enervate made Harry’s gorgeous emerald eyes flicker open for a second, and he reflexively reached out with his right hand. Draco grabbed the wandering hand in a near-crushing grip, holding on for dear life. Snape sat back on his heels, giving Harry some breathing room as the boy’s mouth opened and closed, too disoriented to put a coherent sentence together. He sat in a stony, surprised silence, watching Draco plant kiss after kiss on the back of Harry’s right hand, giddily laughing and crying at the same time. He waited until Harry’s eyes had focused, and then he handed Draco a Calming Draught. Draco carefully raised Harry into a reclining position with Harry leaning back onto Draco. He wrapped Harry’s right hand around the bottle, then covered the tan hand with his own pale one, assisting Harry in raising it to his lips to drink.

“Alright, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter, my work here is finished. I don’t know what is going on, but I will have to inform the Headmaster of this,” Snape was back to sounding as crusty as ever. Draco nodded vigorously, his normally emotionless grey eyes shining with unspoken gratitude. Snape acknowledged him with a curt nod and a final warning that Harry was not to be left alone; he then picked up his briefcase and took his leave, heading to the Hospital Wing.

* * * * * *

Draco couldn’t help himself when he kissed the side of Harry’s neck and ear, wherever his mouth could reach, with palpable relief. His head turned, and Draco suddenly found himself lip-to-lip. He closed his eyes, savoring the feel of Harry’s salty lips, realizing that they were both crying again. Now that his loved one was out of danger, Draco’s fury at being scared out of his wits rose up in his chest, and his kiss reflected that, biting along Harry’s lips angrily, seeking to punish the Gryffindor. Harry pulled back, startled at first, searching Draco’s wet grey eyes. He made a slight turn and pushed Draco so that he was laying back on the floor, with Harry over him, and Harry dipped his head back down for another brutally passionate kiss. Hedwig interrupted them by landing on Harry’s shoulder, and he sat up quickly, reaching one hand up to pat his pet as she affectionately nipped his ear repeatedly.

“What the FUCK did you do that for? Do you have ANY idea the Hell I just went through? Don’t you DARE do that again, or I’ll kill you myself, Potter! Do you hear me?” Draco rose up on his elbow, the words exploding from him, and his eyes snapped cold grey fire. Harry was slightly taken aback by the vehemence in Draco’s eyes and words, but unduly happy to be alive, just the same. Everything he was trying to run from came flooding back to him, and he gasped at nearly being overwhelmed again, but this time, he wasn’t alone.

Draco watched as Harry’s eyes glazed over, and his anger melted instantly. He figured that Harry had used the Pensieve to reclaim his memories from last night, and by the look on Harry’s face, it was bad. Very bad. He reached out, pulled Harry into a hug, and held the Gryffindor close as he sobbed out what had happened. Draco’s breath caught in his throat when Harry told of his assault on Hermione, and the blonde instantly understood why Ron had reacted the way he did. His heart stopped when he heard Harry’s strong feelings of guilt and self-reproach. He put his hands on the boy’s shoulders and gently pushed him back to arm’s length, locking their gazes.

“Harry, you didn’t mean it. If you were in your right mind, you wouldn’t do that, right? I mean, nothing actually happened; they’ll get through this. But you…Harry, you have to forgive yourself; I’m-I’m here for you…for the long haul. And this,” Draco gestured around the room, indicating what had just transpired. “This made me realize something. I-I love you, Harry. I’m in love with you. And this can’t happen again, because if you died, I wouldn’t be able to go on.” Draco’s voice broke, but he bravely finished. Harry sat, absolutely floored. He wanted so badly to believe Draco’s words about him, and Harry’s breath hitched when Draco admitted to loving Harry. He set his right palm alongside Draco’s cheek, smiling as Draco nuzzled into it.

“I realized something, too, Draco…right after I cut my wrist. I-I was ready to die; I deserved to die, but my one regret was that I didn’t tell you…I love you. I love you, too, Draco. But-but I just don’t understand how you can feel the same way about me, after what I…” Harry’s eyes filled with tears and spilled down his cheeks again as he confessed. It twisted Draco’s heart, and he pulled Harry close again, wrapping his arms around the trembling boy.

“We all make mistakes,” he said softly. “None of us deserve to be forgiven for them, but we forgive each other just the same. It’s not going to happen overnight, but as time goes on, it’ll get easier. I,” Draco paused, heaving a big sigh. “I was the one who let the Death-Eaters into Hogwarts last year. I’m not proud of it, and every time I walk past the Room of Requirement, I think about it, and it makes me sick. But Dumbledore never stopped believing in me, even when I stopped believing in myself, and he forgave me, Harry. Just like Gra-uh, Hermione and Ron will forgive you. It might not be today or tomorrow, but you and I will keep going. We’ll be here for each other, until they are ready to talk to you. But in order for them to have the ability to forgive you, you have to forgive yourself…and promise never to try anything like this again!”

“But I’m such a horrible person,” Harry whispered back. Draco squeezed him tighter, becoming desperate to make him understand.

“Harry. If you are such a horrible person, why am I here? I’ve NEVER felt this way about anyone before, NEVER! Of all the people I’ve…” Draco groped for the right choice of words. “…been with, none of them have ever made me feel the way I do about you. Not one of them. Only you, Harry. If you were such a horrible person, how could you reach into my soul and make me fall in love with you, even when you hated me? Harry, look at me! You can see me crying! You’ve touched me deeper than anyone, ANYONE ever has before! I never imagined I could feel like this. I’m Slytherin, Harry; we’re not supposed to ‘do’ emotions. But you reached down inside me and touched the untouchable. If THAT’s not a miracle, then, Merlin’s name, I don’t know what is.”

Something like a dam broke inside the Boy Who Lived at that moment, and he cried on Draco’s shoulder. All of the pain and negative feelings he’d been living with melted away at Draco’s words, and he cried until he passed out, with Draco’s loving embrace surrounding him, one pale hand stroking his hair and back while beautiful pink lips murmured wordless comfort, safe in the arms of the one who loved him.
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Author’s note: Alright, tell me true: too corny? Too cliché? Not realistic? Be brutal. If the whole "Harry and Draco love each other and Harry is going to get through trying to commit suicide and almost raping Hermione" isn't believable the way I wrote it, I want to know so that I can MAKE it believable. As soon as I posted Chapter 5, I started writing this one (well, maybe I slept for about an hour or two in between somewhere) but yeah…I feel like this is a good chapter for a semi-resolution and a break from the constant drama that’s been building.

Also, quick aside. I know I took some liberties with Pomfrey's character...I hope you guys find it believable. All of the spells or potions that were mentioned by name (in italics unless being spoken in quotations) came from the Harry Potter Lexicon, which is a fabulous reference website for those who don't know it. If you want the link, just send me an email!

Don’t worry, it’s not over yet! We still have some unresolved issues, but I hope that this chapter’s ending is more of a comfort to you than previous ones’. And I still apologize for the traumatization of the other chapters. Thanks again to everyone for the reviews!

Danine—You have your answers! (and of COURSE, I couldn’t let Harry die…you can’t really have Harry/Draco-y goodness without the “Harry”…unless Draco turns out to be a necrophiliac and wants to have sex with Harry’s dead body…but honestly, that kind of skeeves me out, so I’d rather not write it that way!)

Elric—Wow, thank you! I take that as a huge compliment. (And apologies for the length of time between updates…I know it feels like forever when you’re waiting, even if it’s been less than a day!)

Yami—Your wish is my command!