Author's Note:

I'm sorry for reposting this chapter, guys, but I wasn't sure how to get the news out to all of you without breaking the whole "You may not post author's notes as chapters" rule. I'll be going on HIATUS with posting this story for a while, and when I do come back it'll be with a nearly complete, new and improved "Delicate". I've already gotten behind and I feel like what I am putting out isn't as good as it should be. Plus, I've found I'm getting a lot less free time than I thought I would this summer, and the last thing I want to do is spend more than a year dragging this thing out, chapter by painfully-late chapter. I'd rather write it all as well as I can and then release later it with good timing and good writing. I'm sorry to all of my dedicated readers, especially the lovelies who have been with me since day one back in January when this was going to be a little 10-chapter ficlet; you all are such beautiful people and your support has meant so much to me!

Again, I'm so sorry and hope to see you all soon!

~Gen


Breathe Again
"[She's] the air I would kill to breathe…
I am left hoping someday I'll breathe again."

Sara Bareilles


August 6th, 2002

"Take a deep breath Hermione," Ginny reminded her.

"I have been taking deep breaths! Many, in fact!"

"Taking deep breaths and hyperventilating are two completely different things," the redhead reminded her, amused.

"You're right, you're right, I've got to calm down. I mean, this isn't like at school where one wrong move could get you half-marks… this is more like one wrong move and I could get stuck in Grimmauld Place all day and sit at home while all my friends are out risking their necks—"

"Calm down, Hermione. You're going to do well. It's only been about a month and you're already as amazing as you were, if not better. This'll be a cakewalk for you."

The former-Gryffindor rubbed her hands on her jeans nervously, looking unconvinced.

"Oh, come on. You beat Justin, Ernie, Susan… you even tied with Angelina, and she's, like, one of the top five duellists in the Order!"

"I didn't technically didn't beat Justin. He slipped and fell while dodging one of my spells."

"Trust me, Hermione, in battle... that stuff counts. Now go in—Kingsley and everyone are waiting for you."

Hermione gave her friend a quick hug and turned to the training room (which was really one of the many sitting rooms in Grimmauld Place that had been converted to fit the Order's needs).

"Good Morning, Miss Granger," Kingsley said in his deep, calming voice as she walked in. He was flanked by Angelina, Oliver, and Neville, who waved and smiled at her in turn. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Hermione replied, pulling her wand from her pocket and twirling it nervously between her fingers.

"Now, remember, Miss Granger," Kingsley reminded her. "This is just to make sure you're in good health and competent enough to be out on the field, alright? So you don't need to waste energy with impressive spells or strategies—just that you can get by in a fight. Alright?"

"Alright," she said, squaring her shoulders determinedly.

"And Johnson, Wood, and Longbottom will be fighting at 100% speed and strength, but the most damage they'll do is stun you."

"Got it," Hermione replied, and Kingsley took a step back to the corner of the room. The three of her opponents stood across from her, wands at the ready, waiting for Kingsley's cue.

"Begin," he said smoothly.

Oliver moved first, lunging forward to try and disarm her. Hermione easily dodged the attack, though, flying out of the way and sending her own "Expelliarmus!" his way. Not checking to see whether she hit her mark (she did), Hermione spun around to face Neville, who was now charging at her from her left.

"Impedimenta!" Hermione shouted, but Neville swiftly blocked it with a shield charm. The brunette was pleasantly surprised—obviously he had improved a lot since cheering about his first successful disarming back in the D.A.

"Stupefy!" Angelina yelled, and Hermione uttered her own shield charm before turning to face Oliver, who had found his wand and was shooting more jinxes at her.

Their sparring seemed to go on for quite some time, but Hermione knew it had only been a few minutes. When Kingsley called "time", though, Oliver Wood was lying flat on the ground, out cold, and Neville and Angelina were both breathing loudly with their own minor bruises. Hermione herself was exhausted and sore, but felt a sort of invigorating triumph at her victory.

"How did I do, Kingsley?" she asked as she helped Wood to his feet, stumbling as he stood.

"I still have to get Dumbledore's approval, but right now you look quite ready for duty," Kingsley said with a wide smile. "Welcome back Miss Granger."

' ' '

August 11th, 2002

"Weasley!"

Ginny looked up to see Draco peering around the doorway to the library. She wasn't sure how to react—her conversation with the Slytherin a few weeks ago had her thinking of the Slytherin more forgivingly, but they hadn't exchanged a single word since then. She decided to answer and just see how it went from there.

"What, Malfoy?"

"Okay, so you know how your mother is making this whole big dinner thing tomorrow night, and then we have a huge Order Meeting afterward?" Draco said, taking a seat on the armchair across from her.

"Yeah…"

"Alright, so where does everyone usually sit now-a-days?"

"What kind of question is that?" Ginny said, irritated.

"I just want to know so I can figure out how to stay clear of Hermione," Draco explained, tone just short of icy. "If you remember, she explicitly asked me to do so."

Huh, "ask" was a pretty light way of putting it. She demanded him, the redhead thought.

"Okay. Listen, 'cause I'm only going to explain this once. Dumbledore sits at the head of the table. Harry and Kingsley used to sit on either side of him with Lupin and Seamus next and then my Dad and Mum. Then it was Hermione and Neville, Luna and Angelina, Fred and George, Bill and Charlie, and then me and you, and then whoever else was there going down the line. And the whole arrangement changed at a moment's notice, depending on who was there and who wasn't"

"I remember that, thanks," Draco said, and she could tell he was trying to keep his tone as level as possible.

"Now since we're… missing some people, it's Dumbledore, then Lupin and Kingsley, Mum and Dad—Snape hardly ever comes anymore—Neville and Luna, Angelina and George, Charlie and Oliver, and then Me and probably Hermione. Now, if you want to stay as far away from Hermione as possible, I would sit across from Ernie McMillan, who sits towards the end of the table next to Hannah Abbott and Justin Finch-Fletchley. Zacharias Smith used to sit across from him, but no one has filled his seat since he died."

"Yeah, I've noticed," Draco said. "Why is that?"

"He was the first to die on the field, in the first battle," Ginny said simply.

"So you're asking me to sit in the seat of the man who ever died fighting the Second Wizarding War?" the Slytherin said incredulously.

"Trust me—it's more out of habit than anything else at this point that we don't fill it. And there really aren't any other open seats, so everyone'll understand."

"Or chase me out of the dining room like a lynch mob," Draco muttered under his breath.

Ginny hesitated, wondering if she wanted to say what was running through her mind. You really shouldn't, or you'll give him the wrong idea, she thought. Can't have Malfoy think you're actually being nice to him. But her conscience won over. "Listen, Malfoy—you're still an Order Member. You've been invaluable when you're on duty. You saved quite a few lives on the field. No one forgets that here," she told him. "Just because we're pissed at you doesn't mean it erases your past actions. You're not an enemy anymore. Just a moron."

"Thanks, She-Weasel," he said, partly sardonic.

"No problem, He-Ferret," she replied, not sure how big the sardonic part was and how big the honestly thankful part was.

' ' '

August 12th, 2002

You had to give it to him—he'd tried. Draco had gone to Ginny, explained about dinner, and asked her about the whole seating arrangement. He listened to her advice, sitting in Zacharias Smith's old seat, as far away from Hermione is one could possibly get while simultaneously in the same room. But this was the first time he had seen Hermione in almost a month, and he couldn't help but sneak a glance now and then. While she looked healthier—not as skinny, not as pale, and more confident—her expression was hard and serious, which seemed strange to him. He supposed he'd gotten spoiled on her smiles.

Only once did she glance his way at the same time he glanced hers, and she looked at him—not with anger, as he'd expected—but with a sort of blank expression, like she was pretending to have never met him at all, which surprised and wounded him more than the anger would have.

"There are two—possibly three—horcruxes left," Dumbledore was saying, voice calm but grim. Draco knew that there was the slightest possibility that Harry had not destroyed the diadem when he torched the Room of Requirement, but he doubted it survived the blaze. Even though its destruction as almost a certainty, the Order had not yet been able to return to Hogwarts to confirm the fact. "And we have gained reason to believe that one rests in the Lestrange House."

There was a collective intake of breath from every Order member; since the Order had captured and ransacked Malfoy Manor, the Lestrange House had become the unofficial headquarters for Voldemort and his off-duty Death Eaters. Attempting to infiltrate that particular house would probably become one of the most dangerous missions any member would ever face.

"Let us be honest with each other," Dumbledore began, and the tone of his voice meant that whatever came next was not going to make any one very happy. "The Order is losing this war. We have lost too many of our most valuable members, while the Death Eaters grow stronger every day. The most chance we have of winning, of destroying Lord Voldemort once and for all, is destroying these horcuxes. We can no longer waste time attempting to kill the many heads of this beast—we must strike for the heart."

There were an equal number of murmurs of agreement and noises of doubt, but Dumbledore continued on nonetheless.

"I propose a team of our ten strongest duellists, given the assignment of attacking the Lestrange House. This will be a small, quick team of the most skilled of us, with the only goal being to retrieve the horcrux and make it out alive.

"Kingsley, Remus, Tonks, Miss Lovegood, Mr Longbottom, Miss Weasley, Miss Johnson, Miss Granger, Mr Malfoy and I will infiltrate the Lestrange House and recover the horcrux in three days' time."

"But Professor—excuse me," Ginny Weasley said, blushing at her own outburst, "Is it really all that… wise to send Hermione on this particular mission? She just got back on duty, and…"

Draco completely agreed and knew a few others would, as well, but he also knew the former-Gryffindor would be indignant, which was evident by the way she glared at her redheaded friend and elbowed Ginny in the ribs.

Dumbledore smiled understandingly, though. "Miss Granger has proved to be in excellent condition, both in mind and body, and as one of our most skilled members I have decided to include her on this assignment." He continued with another smile.

"Severus has informed me that it is most likely kept in the dungeons of the house, in a magical safe—that is our goal. The horcrux is almost certainly the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff.

"This mission can only be attempted once," Dumbledore continued, expression stony and solemn. "If we fail, the horcrux will no doubt be moved to a different, even safer location, not to mention the lives that will be lost if all goes wrong. So it is of the utmost importance that those I chose to accompany me on this assignment are willing, focused, and able. If any of you wish not to join me, please speak now."

The silence that followed was heavy and absolute, and Dumbledore allowed himself a small smile.

"With so few Order members and horcruxes left, it is an inevitability that this war will end soon, for better or for worse.

"For those of you who are losing faith and hope, please remember what we fight for. We fight for all that is Right and Just and Good in this world, and for the freedom of all those Voldemort has oppressed. We fight to avenge those he has taken away from us, all the friends and family members that will never see a safe, happy world once more. Think of those who have sacrificed so much for this cause, and fight for them."

Draco's gaze shifted to Hermione, watching her carefully for her reaction. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes gleamed with tears. He instantly wanted to rise from his seat and embrace her, but forced himself to resist the urge. He hardly noticed when Dumbledore began speaking again.

"I think now would be an excellent time to thank you all, for fighting so bravely, so valiantly."

"Thank you, Dumbledore," Tonks piped up. "Thank you for all that you've done for the Order." Everyone murmured and nodded in agreement, and the old wizard smiled gently.

"A toast is in order, I believe," he said, raising his cup. "To the Order of the Phoenix."

Draco and all the others raised their cups as well. "To the Order of the Phoenix," they echoed.

' ' '

August 15th, 2002

Hermione was having nightmares again.

They weren't as paralysing as the ones she had during the previous year, and she was almost certain she no longer screamed while she nightmared—though just in case she placed silencing charms on herself while she slept in hopes that she would not rouse Ginny and—once again—become a cause for alarm. She was also still perfectly sane during the day, able to function properly and hold a conversation without anyone suspecting a thing; though she felt the memory of the nightmares plaguing and poisoning her mind.

The former-Gryffindor was terrified at the idea of returning back to her half-mad, half-alive state that she suffered through for so many months, though the only thing she could think of that might reverse the process was getting back with Draco, for his presence had seemed to cure her before. But she loathed that idea almost as much as going mad again. He had already proven himself untrustworthy in the worst way possible.

The nightmares almost always began with Ron's death, and the night before the Lestrange Mission did not break the pattern. As soon as she closed her eyes and slipped into the realm of unconsciousness, the terror began.

God. It hurt so much. It hurt everywhere. She could tell without looking that yellow bruises had bloomed all over her neck and legs and arms and chest and face, and that she must be a sight to see with the dried blood crackling in her hair and on her cheek and splattered all over her clothes. It was agony where the brute of a Death Eater held on to her wrists, forcing them behind her back. The chains Greyback had forced on her made her wrists chafed and they wept blood with every wrong movement.

"Make her kneel before me, Yaxley." Hermione looked up as she and her guard entered the hall.

Bellatrix. The former-Gryffindor instantly felt an invigorating mixture of pure loathing and paralysing fear take hold of her body. "Make the Mudblood kneel before me," the crazed witch said, "Where she belongs."

A hate as sharp and reviving as fire consumed Hermione but she was nearly powerless to resist, her now-spindly arms and emaciated figure no match for Yaxley's strength. She attempted to fight him, twisting under his clenched hands and ignoring the pain of her wrists, but to no avail.

So she settled for spitting at Bellatrix's feet.

The deranged witch was in front of her in a second, dark black eyes alight with cruel insanity, like live coals. She procured a thin, silver dagger from her robes and held it to her captive's face. "How dare you," she hissed, voice dangerously quiet. "And they all said you were smart." Bellatrix dragged the dagger across Hermione's skin, the blade biting into her already-abused flesh. Hot red blood trickled down her cheek while hot white pain lanced across her face. The brunette bit her tongue, fighting back a piercing yelp.

"How does that feel, Mudblood?" Bellatrix inquired, eyes shining with wicked glee as she increased pressure on the blade. "Agonizing, isn't it? But you and I both know that physical pain is nothing compared to pain of the heart. A simple Crucio is not the worst I can do." She stood up. "Don't worry, darling," she said, the endearment lost in the toxin of her voice. "You'll pay for that little stunt you pulled. And everything else you've done."

"By that logic, you should watch out, Bellatrix," Hermione said through her teeth. "Your comeuppance will no doubt be ten times worse than mine, you wretched cow." The other witch, eyes inflamed with rage, reached out to slap Hermione across the face, the swift strike tripling the pain that set fire to her cheek.

"Filthy Mudblood still doesn't know her place," she told Yaxley. "Still thinks she's indestructible. Oh, yes, Potter's little golden girl is above all this." Bellatrix grinned, displaying grotesque brown stumps that slightly resembled teeth, and Hermione could feel the fear oozing down across her shoulders. "Not for long, pet," she said delightedly, then shouted at the door, "Bring the Weasley boy in!"

Ron? Hermione thought frantically. How did she get Ron?

Fenrir Greyback and the Snatcher, Scabior, carried a struggling Ron Weasley through the doors of the hall. The redhead was already sporting a black eye, a split lip, and gash on his head that was made evident only by the blood that stained the side of his face. Dread and fear for him trudged down Hermione's throat.

The expression smeared across his face as he caught sight of her was enough to shatter her heart. How she must look to him, bruised and bloody and as skinny as a walking stick, trembling with the pain of a hundred past-Crucio's. "Hermione!" he roared, struggling even harder against the two thugs who held him fast. "Don't you touch her, you crazy bitch," he shouted at Bellatrix, and she cackled.

"Too late, my dear," the witch said, descending down on her catpive and pulling at her skin around the new cut, displaying the wound and causing Hermione to wince and hiss out a breath of pain—all for Ron's benefit. "But I wouldn't be worrying about the little Mudblood whore," Bellatrix said, striding over to Ron. "You would be better off worrying about your own well-being. Or, rather, your being, seeing as it won't be all that 'well' for long." She turned to werewolf. "Set him on the floor over there, where we can all get a nice look at him."

Greyback grunted in reply but did as he was told, reaching to restrain one side of Ron as he was laid across the floor. Scabior took the other side, and both bared their teeth a foul grin.

"What are you going to do to him?" Hermione cried out, her terror for Ron causing her to lose all resolve.

"You'll have to wait and see," Bellatrix replied, horrifically elated. With a flick of her wand Ron was restrained by invisible ropes, and Greyback and Scabior stepped away from his writhing body.

The dark witch strode up to the youngest Weasley boy, who stared back at her defiantly. "Don't worry, Hermione," he said daringly. "I'm not afraid of her."

The Death Eater let out another mad cackle. "You should be, boy."

Without warning, Bellatrix's wand was aimed at Ron and she was screaming a delighted "Crucio!" at the youngest Weasley boy. He squeezed his eyes shut, oblivious to Hermione's sobs as she clawed at her face. Bellatrix cut off the spell and Ron relaxed, his breath laboured and tears leaving crystalline tracks down his cheeks.

"Is that all you've got?" he said through gritted teeth.

"No, don't provoke her Ron!"

"Ah, the mudblood is justified in her warning, blood traitor. I have much more in store for you, boy." Crucio after Crucio was sent into Ron's chest and every time Hermione shut her eyes, unable to watch another moment, until Yaxley drove the heel of his hand into her temple and demanded her to keep her eyes open.

Finally, Bellatrix seemed to get bored with the torture, and when she lowered her wand Hermione let out a sigh of relief.

The Death Eater whirled around at the sound. "Ah-ah-ah," she said, shaking her wand at the Gryffindor. "I'm not done with him yet, Mudblood."

"Don't call her that!" Ron snapped. "Don't you dare call her that name."

"Ron, please—"

"You dare tell me what to do?" Bellatrix howled. "It's time you learned your place, you insolent, stupid little Weasley."

And with a series of movements that looked no more than a blur, she sliced her dagger across Ron, seemingly uncaring where she hit—his face, his arms, his chest, his shoulders. He let out a hoarse cry, eyes folding shut in unimaginable pain, but let nothing else breach his lips, his brow set in determination. Hermione cried in his stead, giving up all pretences of calmness or strength, thrashing wildly under Yaxley's grip and sobbing uncontrollably. "Let him go! Please, stop it, please… Ron…"

Bellatrix tore viciously at his shirt, tearing it to shreds and then discarding it, throwing the tatters to the side. She licked her lips, and Ron shuddered. "You know, little Weasley," she said, clapping her hands together. "You would almost be attractive if it not for your disgusting ginger hair or those deplorable freckles. A pity, really, considering how otherwise handsome you are. I think I might have to have a taste." Ron's eyes widened in disgust and revulsion as she leaned down and drew her lips languorously across a cut that arced across his chest.

Ron screamed, and the world broke in pieces. Her mouth is hexed, Hermione thought, horrified.

It went on for what seemed like hours, Bellatrix planting misleadingly soft kisses across the Weasley's torso, each touch causing him to release a strangled scream or sob.

"Please, stop!" Hermione moaned. "You can't do this! Please, please stop! Hurt me instead, hurt me instead!"

"Shut up, Mudblood," Yaxley commanded harshly, aiming a rapid kick into her spine. Her back arched and her bones screamed in protest. She could feel the bruise blooming against her skin.

Hermione continued to shout anyway, her gaze transfixed on Ron's near-unconscious face, distressed panic twisting her cries into something primitive and wretched. Finally, Bellatrix sat up, wiping her lips on her sleeve. "Delicious," she said.

"Ron," Hermione said hoarsely. "Ron."

"Hermione," came his reply, as soft and sad and beautiful as a phoenix's song.

"Oh, how sweet," Bellatrix said sardonically. "You two really are precious. A pity we had to let this go to waste." Without warning she swooped down on him, pressing the tip of the dagger into his chest, directly over his heart. "Let's see how long it takes for the Weasley to die, shall we, dearie?" And then Ron was screaming, the loudest yet, a long, soul-ripping, anguished stream of tortured sound that ripped from between his lips and flooded the hall with his agony.

And Bellatrix laughed.

"NO!" Hermione sobbed, over and over again, struggling harder than ever against Yaxley's fierce hold, feeling his nails dig into the skin of her arms and the kicks he aimed into her back and legs. She watched in trepidation as Ron began to choke on the blood that spurted from his throat, limbs engaged in perturbing spasms, back arched in pain; she saw him attempt to form a name—her name—on his blood-red lips before the dagger was inches deep and he grew still, his lovely, beautiful blue eyes empty of life.

Hermione let out a shrill scream that slowly blended with her moans. She couldn't do it—she couldn't do it, live another day with this memory slaughtering her mind, live another day without him, her love, by her side and saying her name—

"RON! GOD, NO! PLEASE, KILL ME! I'M BEGGING YOU, KILL ME TOO!" she screeched, struggling against Yaxley, and Bellatrix abandoned the Weasley's body, returning to stand in front of her. The mad witch crouched down to be level with the former-Gryffindor's soaked face, drenched with her own briny tears.

A twisted grin lit the Lestrange's face. "Ah, but that would be too easy, Mudblood," Bellatrix whispered, her breath foul across Hermione's face. "Though I do appreciate the begging." She looked up at Yaxley. "Let her go."

"What?" said the other Death Eater, bewildered.

"Let her go, you imbecile!" she bellowed, and he immediately loosened his hold. Instantly, Hermione rushed to Ron's corpse, gathering him up in her arms and sobbing over his still-warm body. She brushed his hair from his face and kissed his cheeks and forehead and mouth over and over again, mumbling his name through each kiss.

"Now watch, Yaxley," Bellatrix hissed, though Hermione could hardly hear the other witch's words through her own pain, and did not care to heed them any longer. "This is how you break them."

And suddenly there was agony, nothing but crippling agony that had Hermione flat on her back and writhing, her fingers curled into claws as her spine arched and quivered and silent screams hurled themselves from her wide open mouth and her vision blurred to white—

And when it returned she was in a hallway. A wide, decrepit hallway in Grimmauld Place and there was the most beautiful music playing, a sad, flowing tune played by a single piano. She didn't walk toward the sound—she hovered, she floated, her movements smooth and slightly… ethereal.

Hermione turned through many hallways until she came upon a shut door, and she could tell that behind it, she would find the source of the beautiful music. The door was not locked and it opened easily, hardly creaking at all, which was strange for any door in the old house.

There, sitting at an beautifully ancient grand piano, was Draco, his fingers gliding as gracefully over the keys in a song Hermione had never heard him play before, despite having listened to his entire repertoire while they lived together.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she recognised that she was furious with him, and did not trust him, and wasn't sure she even loved him anymore. But her dream-self did not seem to care about any of those things, and she advanced towards him, taking a seat beside him on the piano bench.

"Hello, Draco," she said softly when he didn't seem to notice her presence. Her voice startled him, though, and the blonde jumped in surprise.

"H-H-Hermione," he stammered. "Wha-Why are you here?"

The brunette shrugged. "Dreams are funny things. They take you to strange places with people you never would have spent time with otherwise." When he did not reply, still seeming quite stunned and unable to form coherent words, she asked, "What were you playing?"

Draco rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture that meant he was taken aback, baffled, or confused, she knew. "Well, it's a song I wrote. A song… I wrote for you."

Hermione knew she ought to be surprised or annoyed or suspicious, but all she felt was a calm sort of happiness. "What is it called?"

Draco hesitated; "La Berceuse de la Princesse—The Princess's Lullabye."

Hermione felt herself smile. "That's lovely. Can you play it again?"

He paused again, but turned back to the keys and began playing. The sounds that issued from the grand piano were stunning—the song he had woven for her were made from the most beautiful, most delicate of strands, and it caressed her ears and her heart. The notes were like snowflakes that had fallen down from the purest of clouds, cool and gentle on her skin.

"Oh, Draco," she murmured, all animosity she ever felt toward him forgotten as her lullaby resonated about the room. "It's beautiful. Gorgeous."

The blonde's brow furrowed, as if her kindness confused him. "Thank you," he said, and his voice sounded unsure. Hermione carefully threaded her arm through his, making sure not to interrupt the song, and rested her head against his shoulder. She'd forgotten how good this felt, just being close to him.

"I'm sorry I hit you." Hermione wasn't even sure why that came out of her mouth—she couldn't remember ever hitting him, or ever wanting to hit him. It just seemed like the right thing to say; and if she had hit him, she did feel apologetic.

"I-It's alright," Draco stuttered, and simply hearing his voice made her heart swell pleasantly. She nuzzled her face into his shoulder, her lullaby still ringing out from the grand piano, and closed her eyes, feeling very much at peace and quite glad she was no longer nightmaring.


A/N:

Soooo... how is everyone?

I'M SORRY I KEPT YOU WAITING SO DAMN LONG BUT MY INTERNET HAS BEEN AN ASS AND BEFORE THAT I HAD WRITER'S BLOCK AND I'M SORRY

Okay doke, I'm done freaking out. But yeah, I am so sorry for the crazy-long wait and you are all free to yell at me for said wait! More bad news-I'm not sure if I'll be able to post again by this Thursday because I have to work on some original work for a while, I've got a deadline this weekend, but Monday should be no problem!

On a happier note, I passed 200 pages! Well, I passed 200 pages a bit ago but I kept forgetting to inform you guys XD Also, I'm almost to 100 reviews... Three more! Come on guys, if you get me to 100 I shall smile all day and love you all to death, you already-lovely people :) Thanks for all your reviews and favourites and alerts and support, all of you are beautiful! XD

I'll be back as soon as I can!
~Gen