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Displaced REDUX	By : YamiBakura Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3714 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, characters, ideas, everything doesn't belong to me. It belongs to Jo Rowling and Warner Bros and I'm making no money from this.

Chapter List
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Hogwarts Headmistress McGonagall strode into the infirmary and nearly turned right back around and walked out again as a bottle of something sailed past her ear and smashed against the wall beside her head. She flinched reflexively, and then gathered her dignity and moved forward.

“Mister Potter!” Another bottle found its way toward her. If she hadn’t ducked, it would have struck her full in the face. “Mister Pott-” she began again, sternly, but was cut off mid-word by the boy in the bed.

“It’s Malfoy!” he shrieked. His brilliant green eyes flashed and then narrowed. “What are you doing in here? Where’s Professor Snape? Where’s Potter?” His face flushed with anger. “What is he doing with my body?”

“Mister Malfoy, cease your childish temper tantrum!” McGonagall shouted at him, fed up with his hysterics, as he reached for another nearby potion vial. To her surprise, he settled back into the bed and blinked owlishly at her. “Thank you,” she said and sank into a nearby chair. “I’m here to ask you some questions about what happened last night, and will answer your questions as soon as I’m able. Professor Snape is looking or him right now, and I haven’t the foggiest idea what he’s doing.”

“Last night,” Malfoy began, and it was terribly strange for McGonagall to be looking at Harry Potter, hearing his voice, but seeing Malfoy’s expression twisting his lips and Malfoy’s haughtiness behind those luminous green eyes. “Last night,” he said again, and the scowl slipped off his face, replaced by a curious look. “I don’t remember anything from last night,” he said finally, sounding disturbed. “Do you know what happened?”

McGonagall repressed a sigh. If I knew I wouldn’t be asking you, she thought, but kept it to herself. She was Headmistress now, and had to keep a tighter rein on her outbursts. “All I know is what we’ve been able to piece together from what we found. We believe you or Potter were in the Tower, the other one followed, and there was an explosion of magic.   Potter seems to have panicked and run, and you were unconscious until this morning. We have no idea what you’ve done, or how to undo it.”

Malfoy’s face became unnaturally pale, but his reaction was stalled by someone screaming from the hallway, audible even through the thick doors of the hospital wing.

“Put me down, you great greasy git!” The infirmary doors slammed open and a slender blond was deposited roughly inside. The door swung shut again behind him before he could gain his feet, and once he’d jumped up and threw himself at the door, McGonagall was surprised it wouldn’t open. He began pounding on it with his fists. From the bed, Malfoy made a choked noise. “Don’t lock me in here!” the other boy screamed through the door, but he couldn’t get it to open, and he finally turned around and leaned his weight against it. His eyes blinked wide in surprise as he realised he wasn’t alone, and then his face darkened with rage.

“You!” he shouted, and advanced on the figure in the bed. McGonagall stood up to give herself some more height over the enraged wizard, and cleared her throat. He didn’t notice her.

“This is all your fault! If you hadn’t ambushed me in the Tower this never would have happened!” His hair was bristling, almost stuck out from his head, and magic crackled and popped around him.

McGonagall cleared her throat again, but the boy either refused to listen or didn’t hear her at all.   He sucked in a deep breath and prepared to continue his assault on Malfoy. She pre-empted him by shouting again. “Potter!” Her patience at an end with the two of them was completely spent. “Sit down, be quiet, and explain this to me!”

*

Draco watched as Potter, in his body, slouched and trudged forward. He seated himself on the end of the bed, as McGonagall had possession of the only chair nearby, and Malfoy carefully inched his feet away from the other, not wishing to come into contact with him.   He was wearing Potter’s clothes, and Draco sneered at the sight of the dirty trainers and baggy clothing hanging from his frame.

“Last night, I was up in the unused Tower trying to destroy a Horcrux,” Potter explained, looking woefully up at McGonagall. The expression was a strange mix of defiance and pout, and Draco thought it looked quite fine on his face. He made a mental note to remember it, and then took the opportunity to study Potter a little closer. He’d done something interesting with his hair, pulling it back into a pony-tail at the nape of his neck. The front was shorter, and hung shaggily in his face. It was a good look for him, and Draco nodded to himself, resolved to try more things with his hair than just slicking it back or letting it hang loose. Then his brain caught up with the conversation and he interrupted.

“Wait, what’s a Horcrux?” He frowned and wracked his memory. The word was vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Potter glanced at McGonagall, who nodded once. He shrugged.

“It’s a bit difficult to explain. Horcruxes are extremely dark artefacts created by Voldemort to make himself immortal.   They contain a bit of his soul, so that if his body dies, he can continue to exist through the soul. Its how he managed to come back after I supposedly destroyed him the first time.” He looked vaguely embarrassed by the reference, and reached automatically for his forehead. His hand paused halfway to his face and dropped back into his lap again. “He’s basically split his soul into seven parts and hidden six of them in various things. I think,” he added.

Draco was intrigued. “What sort of objects?” This was extremely dark magic. The only way you could split your soul like that was to commit a murder, but at least he remembered where he’d heard the word before. In second year, his father had been muttering about it, and there had been books lying scattered about the sitting room. Draco found himself interested in spite of himself, and had almost forgotten McGonagall’s presence. He wondered how Potter knew about the Horcruxes, and the Dark Lord.

“I don’t know,” Potter admitted. Draco scowled. “That’s what I was trying to with… with… Dumbledore.” The name was clearly difficult for him, and Draco felt a momentary – less than a seconds worth – of pity and regret.   “We were coming back from getting one of them when you… and… That night…”

Draco knew immediately what he was referring to, and why Potter couldn’t say it. He didn’t particularly feel like saying it, either. After a few moments Potter composed himself again, running a hand through his hair. Draco winced to see his hair treated like that, and watched it kick forward in a fuzzy arch.

“Well, anyway, it wasn’t a Horcrux but it used to be. We think someone else got to it first, and probably destroyed it. Dumbledore had some ideas about what the others were, but…” He shrugged inelegantly and Draco winced again. “I found one a few days ago by accident in the Chamber of Secrets. I took it up to the Tower to get out of the way and was using a Soul Displacement spell to get Voldemort’s spirit out of it. That’s when you showed up and interrupted the spell. I think that’s what happened to us; I think when you disrupted me, our souls were displaced instead.”

Draco scrunched up his nose, sorting through the information Potter had revealed. “So you miscasting the spell got us into this –”

“I did not miscast it!” Potter hissed. “I cast it perfectly and that’s the bloody problem!” He threw his hands up and stood, already in motion before he’d even fully risen.   Pounding one fist against the wall to vent his frustration, Potter growled under his breath. “Don’t even try to pin this on me,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “This is your fault, because if you hadn’t interrupted everything would have been fine.”

“Can you cast it again?” McGonagall asked, her expression grim. Potter’s face darkened and Malfoy was actually afraid for a few moments, seeing such an expression of murderous rage on his own face.

Potter snarled. “No,” he said darkly and stalked towards the door. Grabbing the doorknob, he didn’t even bother to turn it – he just yanked. The door, hinges, and part of the wall came loose and Potter dropped the entire mess beside him and stalked out. Draco’s mouth came open, accidentally mirroring the expression on McGonagall’s face.

“I… I can’t believe I just watched myself do that,” he murmured, and McGonagall turned an angry glare on him.

“Twenty five points to Gryffindor for attempted destruction of a Horcrux. Five points from Gryffindor for blatant destruction of school property. Twenty five points from Slytherin for willful interference with destruction of a Horcrux.” She sniffed. “And I’ll excuse him from detention this time because of extenuating circumstances.”

Draco whirled on her, startled. “What? But, Professor!”

She stood, ignoring him, and cast reparo on the door before walking out after Potter.   Draco sighed and rolled over. Typical, he thought. Wonderboy fucks us up for a month, destroys bits of the school, and I get points taken away. He closed his eyes and was trying to sleep when the other two thirds of the golden trio burst through the recently repaired door.

“Oh Harry!” Granger shouted, flinging herself onto the bed and wrapping her arms around his neck. Draco stiffened, not entirely sure what to do with her. His skin was crawling at the contact with a mudblood, but he was supposed to be her best friend right now.   He wished they’d stayed away for a few minutes longer at least, long enough for him to come up with some sort of plan to get out of this. She pulled away while he was still debating on whether to pull away and insult her, or pat her awkwardly on the shoulder, saving him the trouble of making a decision. “Sorry Harry,” she said. Draco winced internally, trying to keep his face bland. “I was so worried! Snape said you were trying to destroy one of the Horcruxes. How did it go? Did it work? How many are left?”

“Er,” he said intelligently. Glancing at Weasley, he hoped maybe the red-head would give him some opening to get out of answering, but received only a shrug in return. Gryffindors! Inspiration clunked him over the back of the head like a bludger. “I don’t remember,” he said suddenly. It was a brilliant plan for all of about two seconds before he found himself the recipient of another bone-crushing hug from the girl.

“Oh no!” She sounded seriously dismayed, and for a moment Draco found himself fondly reminded of Pansy. Then he realised what he was thinking and vowed to slap himself around the face later for even considering it. “What do you remember? Do you know where you are? Do you know your name? What’s my name?” The questions came at him rapidfire, and he drew back slightly.

“Um,” he said. “I’m at Hogwarts, of course.” He wondered if he should make them think he thought he was Malfoy, or just reveal himself as Harry. “I remember who I am, of course,” he said finally, just opting to leave the names out of it altogether. “I just don’t know anything about Horcruxes or what happened.”

He took in their pitying expressions, and an unholy glee filled him as it suddenly occurred to him to think about all the things he could do now that he was the golden boy.

-o0o-

Harry stalked out of the library and immediately headed for the library. He growled some Ravenclaw second-years out of the way, and was mollified to see them start jogging to get away from him. If he’d done that as himself, he would have had to feel bad. Maybe there were some advantages to looking like a complete pillock, he thought, and chuckled to himself. He read until his stomach was growling so loudly as to be disturbing the other students and Madam Pince was getting that look in her eye that said he had less than five minutes to remove himself from the library or she was going to remove him by force. Harry got up, glancing over the books he’d surrounded himself with. No matter how hard he looked, however, they all told him the same thing: absolutely nothing of use. The few books that did have enough information in them said only what he’d known all along. The spell had to be performed at the new moon, when the negative energies were at their strongest.

He all but stormed into the Great Hall but paused as everyone’s eyes swiveled around and leveled on him. He was reminded of all the times he’d been the center of attention because of Voldemort. Now he was the center of attention just by being himself. Or rather, Malfoy’s self. The aura of magic around him flickered as his anger reasserted itself and he glowered around the room. As one, the students yanked their eyes off him and went back to whatever they’d been doing before his entrance, and the soft buzz of conversation rose to fill the silence. Harry took a few steps towards the Gryffindor table, remembered himself in time, and turned towards the other side of the room before seating himself at an empty spot by the end of the Slytherin table, away from the other students. He ate as much as he felt he could keep down, but paused halfway through. He was Draco Malfoy now for all intents and purposes, for at least the next month until the next new moon, and there was no way they’d be able to carry on in their own Houses. They would need to go to the Houses they appeared to belong to.

Great, he thought. A whole fucking month in Slytherin. Just what I always wanted.   Scowling thunderously, Harry finished eating and pushed himself away from the table as though it had personally insulted him. As soon as he’d left, and before the doors had even finished swinging shut, the entire student body burst into hurried whispers. What had happened to Malfoy? He looked ready to hex them, no, murder them! Were they safe? Had Malfoy finally gone around the twist? And what had he been wearing!?

Harry snuck up into Gryffindor Tower and retrieved a few of his most important belongings. He reluctantly left the firebolt, knowing that if ‘Harry’ lost his and ‘Malfoy’ suddenly turned up with one, it wouldn’t take much for people to start connecting the dots. Or at least accuse him of being a dirty thief. He packed his map and invisibility cloak, and a few more things he couldn’t bear to leave to Malfoy’s pawing. Shrinking them with a whispered spell, he shoved them into his pocket and made his way back down to the hospital wing.

“Malfoy!” Old habits died hard, and he swore softly, hoping no one had heard him, and tried again. “Potter, where are you?” He re-entered the room, this time under his own power – the last time Snape had literally slung him over his shoulder and carried the screaming blond back into the infirmary, the ignominy of which was still fresh in his mind and helped him form another dark scowl. He found Hermione and Ron gathered close around ‘Harry’ and sneered. “Granger! Weasel! Get out of here; you’re going to be late for class.” Hermione glared at him but they packed off, promising to come back and see Harry just as soon as they were able. The real Harry threw himself into the seat Hermione had just vacated.

Malfoy was looking at him with a vaguely impressed expression. “I didn’t know you had it in you, Potter,” he said stiffly, apparently unused to praising people. Harry scowled again.

“It’s Malfoy now, or can’t you look at yourself and say your own name?”

“Tetchy, are we?” Malfoy’s voice was calmly amused; Harry just knew he’d been taking advantage of the situation with his friends. “What brings you here, to visit a lowly Gryffindor such as myself?” Malfoy lounged back against the pillows, affecting haughty disinterest with venom.

“Might have something to do with the fact that there’s no way to undo the spell until the next new moon,” Harry said, settling back into his chair with a calm he wasn’t feeling in the least. A coldly amused smirk settled onto his lips without his conscious decision and in the back of his mind he realised that the expression was so habitual to Malfoy that it had become subconscious.

“Wait, what?” Malfoy sat up in a flash as the implications settled in, all pretenses abandoned. “What the fuck are you saying? I have to be a filthy Gryffindor for a month?”

“Exactly,” Harry said, relishing the surprise on the other boy’s expression and making an effort to smile pleasantly. It felt awkward on his face. “You’ve got to eat at the Gryffindor table with my friends. You’ve got to sleep in my dorms. You’ve … shit. You’ve got to play Quidditch in red.” He paled suddenly as something else occurred to him. “I’ve got to let you catch the snitch when we play Slytherin next week.” The words came out slowly, as though he had just eaten something unpleasant and was now trying to get the taste out of his mouth.

Malfoy seemed to have caught on as Harry was speaking and nodded. “Shit,” he said. “This is bad. Shit shit shit.”

“Mr. Malfoy, watch your language,” McGonagall said as she swept into the room, Snape on her heels.

-

“It’s Potter,” both boys asserted at once. Grey eyes met green and sparks flew. The tension in the room was palpable, but it wasn’t quite as bad as Snape had been expecting.   Still, seeing the two of them sitting there, looking like they always did, it was a little bit hard to imagine the predicament they’d gotten themselves into. It took every ounce of his considerable willpower not to begin laughing; he was afraid he’d never stop if he got going.

“So do either of you care to explain what has happened now?”

“I was in the Great Hall,” Potter began, and only the lack of adulation in his eyes told Snape that it wasn’t Draco. Instead, it was beyond strange to see the adoring glances he was accustomed to from the Malfoy heir coming from Lily’s green eyes in James Potter’s hated face.

“I had heard something about Malfoy being on a rampage,” Snape interrupted drily. Harry sneered at him.

“Shut up, Snivellus,” he said brattily, and Snape’s expression became murderous. McGonagall had to physically stop herself from slapping him.

“Mister Potter,” she hissed instead, utterly shocked at his behaviour. “Five points from Gryffindor!”

“Fine,” Potter started again, scowling. “I can’t cast the bl- the spell again until the next new moon.” He shot a dark glance at both Snape and Malfoy. “That means we’re stuck like this for a month,” he added.

Everyone started talking at once.

“I do not want that –”

“How do you know? Can’t you –”

“I can’t undo it!”

“I will not sleep in that tower!”

Madam Pomfrey came in and settled the chaos. “The only people who know about this are the five of us in this room, yes?” Potter nodded.

“Hermione and Ron need to be told,” he said. “They can help Malfoy adjust to Gryffindor, and maybe he’ll learn some manners up in the tower.” Pomfrey nodded her agreement, but Snape had to bite back a comment about who truly needed the manners lesson. Irritation over the Snivellus comment overcame him, and he was opening his mouth to say something when Pomfrey overruled him by turning to Malfoy.

“Do you have any trusted friends that can be told and help Mr. Potter adjust, as he put it?”

-

Draco’s thoughts flashed to Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson. They could definitely be trusted enough to help, but was he willing to make that sacrifice? Willingly allow Potter close to the only two people he’d ever gotten close to? He shook his head. “I don’t really have any close friends in Slytherin,” he lied, not even batting an eyelash.

Snape looked at him oddly, knowing it for a lie, but the others accepted it at face value. “You’re on your own, Potter,” he snapped, and Draco glanced up at him curiously. Neither of them noticed him, too busy glowering at one another.

“It’s Malfoy, sir,” Potter said, clipping off the words in an exact approximation of Draco’s cutting tones.

“Very well, mister Malfoy,” Snape sneered, and Draco reminded himself that the insult was directed at Potter and not himself. “You are entirely on your own down there. Draco has no friends for you to lean on and I will do nothing to encourage your presence in my House.” Snape was clearly enjoying the look on his face. It was somewhere between anger and fear, wavering between them.

“I can handle being alone,” was all Potter said, and changed the subject. “I’ve got the things I need from my trunk. Ma- er… Potter,” he snapped suddenly. “I suggest you sneak into your dorm and retrieve anything you don’t want left behind for a month. I… left my broom up there. Do. Not. Break it.” The unspoken but clearly heard threat hung in the air between them. Draco just nodded.

“As tempting as it is to contemplate sabotaging your broom, I rather like not being expelled.”

“A crash course in me,” Potter said musingly. “My owl’s name is Hedwig if you need her. Do not call Ron and Hermione ‘mudblood’ or ‘weasel’, or I will break cover and hex you. They can tell you the password, because I certainly won’t.”

“My owl’s name is Deimos,” Draco said in response. “Do be careful not to infect any of my Housemates with stupid.” Madam Pomfrey cast some sort of medical spell, and declared Draco recovered from the shock or exhaustion, or whatever it had been that landed him in the hospital wing in the first place. Snape hustled him out the door and Madam Pomfrey took advantage of the momentary lull to make sure that Potter wasn’t suffering any ill-effects from the accidental switch.

-

“Are their magic the same?” McGonagall asked Pomfrey suddenly after Malfoy had left with Snape.   Harry looked at her, startled. He remembered his wand, too; he had it in his jeans, but he was suddenly unsure if it would work for him like this, or if he’d need to use Malfoy’s. Then he realised he’d need to use Malfoy’s either way.

“Harry, what can you cast that not many others can?” Pomfrey asked, interrupting his train of thought.

“Um, patronus,” he said, and at her gesture cast it. A perfect ghostly stag burst from his wand and galloped around the room. Malfoy and Snape returned just before it faded, and Harry was gratified by the startled look on Malfoy’s face.

“What was that?” he demanded.

“A patronus, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said and Harry almost thought she sounded smug.

“Mal – er… Potter,” Harry said. “We need to exchange wands as well.” He offered his up and waited for Malfoy to get the long-suffering sigh out of the way. To Harry’s surprise, though, he made the switch without an argument. Harry cast expecto patronum again just to see if he could; there was a noticeable difference in the way the wand responded, but the stag once again circled the room before vanishing. Satisfied, he nodded and tucked the wand into the waistband of his jeans. Malfoy winced a he ran a hand through his hair, but in what had to be an act of supreme forbearance didn’t make any comments.

“I believe we need to get Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley in here and explain to them what’s going on,” McGonagall said once everything was settled. “I’ll go get them from class. Harry, you don’t need to be in here for that, and I believe it’d be better if they didn’t come in and see Draco Malfoy anyway.”

Harry nodded dutifully and followed Snape and McGonagall out of the infirmary. McGonagall veered off to go collect Hermione and Ron, and Snape lead the way to the dungeons.

“McGonagall has informed me that if I wish to keep my pardon, and my job, that I am not to ostracise you. However, I have not forgiven you for the insult earlier - you have never been more your father, despite the fact that you currently resemble my godson in appearance – and you will not be made welcome by me.   The password is ‘Sprite’ currently, and you will be informed if it changes.”   He lead Harry to the common room door.

“Sprite,” Harry said, glancing at Snape. The Potions Master had his eyes focused forward, as though the stone wall was the most interesting thing he’d ever laid eyes on. They both watched the wall form the door, and Harry stepped into the room. He already knew what it looked like, from their adventures during second year, and it hadn’t changed much in the interim. Snape lead him up to the dorms and informed him that the passwords on the doors were different. “Yours is Angel,” said Snape, and the door swung open to reveal a much larger dorm room than the one he shared in Gryffindor tower. There were only three beds and each section of the room contained a desk and a wardrobe in addition to the bed. Snape pointed out Malfoy’s – as if he could have missed it in the first place, what with Narcissa Malfoy’s picture prominently displayed on the bedside table – and left him there.

Harry opened the wardrobe and gasped slightly to discover the clothes it contained. He’d known that Malfoy wore good clothes, but seeing them up close and having a chance to feel them were nothing in comparison to just knowing about them. He opened the trunk and found it mostly full of more clothes; he briefly wondered what Malfoy had considered important enough to take with him if so much had been left behind, before unpacking everything to get an idea of what was there and repacking it to his liking. He tucked the map and Sirius’ mirror into the bottom and locked the trunk up behind him, not trusting his new roommates to get nosy and decide to go rifling through his things.

He opened the drawers in the bedside table and was somewhat startled to discover several pairs of socks neatly folded together and arranged in lines by colour from white to grey to black. Harry shivered at the thought of having to be so obsessive about his things. He would need to be more careful about how he did everything; while it wouldn’t be terribly good for his social life if it was discovered that he and Malfoy had somehow switched bodies, but he was more worried about it getting out of the school. If any of the Death Eaters discovered that they’d been switched with a powerful switching charm, and it got back to Voldemort, Harry had no doubt that the dark lord would put the pieces together faster than they’d be able to counter. And then he’d come after the school to get his Horcrux back, or just kill Harry once and for all, and they were in no way prepared for an all-out, head to head battle yet.

And he just didn’t feel like facing the ridicule of his fellow students. He was in the snake-pit now, and knew from experience that they wouldn’t hesitate to sink their poisonous fangs into anything he left unguarded.   He spent a few more minutes exploring the room, trying to decide who else he shared the space with, and found the bathroom. It was elegant, even ornate. There were three separate cubbies like in the room, except that thankfully they’d been labeled.

Malfoy, Zabini, and Nott shared this bathroom, and Harry shuddered for a moment before going through Malfoy’s personal things. He had three different kinds of shampoo, matching conditioner, mousse, gel, two hairbrushes, three combs of varying sizes, a bottle of body wash and a special body poof. A bar of soap still in the packaging, a toothbrush, mouthwash, the list went on. Harry rearranged all that too, putting the essentials near the front where he could reach them easily, and noticed that everything had the same scent – sunbreeze and rain, and he took a whiff of the shampoo, wondering about it. It actually didn’t smell that bad, though he’d never noticed the scent clinging around Malfoy during their fights. Then he realised that he’d never really thought about what Malfoy smelled like before, and wouldn’t have noticed it anyway. The shampoo – and everything else in the bathroom – smelled pretty good, despite the odd name. A label on the bottle said it was an original blend from a shop in London.

Now that things were winding down, Harry changed out of his clothes, the ones he’d scavenged from his room before heading to the Room of Requirement, and tucked them into the bottom of the trunk with the rest of the few things he’d brought down with him. Changing into Malfoy’s clothes felt awkward and he was feeling sleepier by the minute. The room was slightly damp, but warm, and he fell into the bed beside the picture of Narcissa, and realised he hadn’t slept at all in nearly twenty four hours. It was the last clear thought he had before sleep claimed him.

Authors Note: Alright. Apparently the first version of this went up in 2oo7. Then sometime in 2oo9, I told everyone I’d be rewriting it, and updating it. Neither of those actually happened. Now, in 2o11, I actually got around to rewriting the entire thing (instead of just copypasting it and doing a few line edits) and am going to post it here as a new story (because I’m a sucker for comments, and it’s also useful to me as a writer to have the BAD version of things up so I can go back and congratulate myself on how good I’ve become.) It’s still not complete, of course, but it’s going better than it has in about four years, and of course, I have four more years of writing experience. Still copying Lomonaaeren’s spacing-style because it’s so much easier to read that way, and while I’m at it, when you’re done with this you should go find some of her stuff; she’s much better than I am at writing, and she’s much, much, MUCH better at actually finishing the things she starts.

This chapter is about 4991 words long, not including this note. If this is the first time you’re reading this story, I encourage you to leave a comment (anonymous welcome) and also to NOT read the original. It was… bad. 8D Also, please stick around and bear with me while I attempt to complete this. I have some ideas, and I’ll be working on it constantly. I can’t give a specific update time, because my internet access is spotty, but I’ll get new chapters up as soon as I’m able.
Thank you for sticking with me for at least the past four years while I started dozens of things and for one reason or another, never finished them. One day, the things worth finishing will be rewritten and completed.
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