Lessons Learnt

Harry was bored out of his mind. He'd been told by the headmaster that he wasn't to leave his rooms without the aid of his Invisibility Cloak and only then if he were summoned by a professor, or in an emergency. Having just finished breakfast in his rooms, he was lying on the bed debating with himself what he would do today.

Missing his Gryffindor classmates terribly, longing for any company at all, he got up and paced around his room. He stopped in front of his trunk, his hands itching to open it, grab his cloak and go outside for a walk. It was a truly beautiful day outside and the sun shone brightly through the window above his bed.

Without warning, he heard tapping on the window and jumped. He looked over to the welcome distraction. It was an ordinary looking brown owl that was flapping its wings outside the window. Happy to be distracted from his boredom, he strode to the window, opened it and let the owl in. Harry quickly tore the offered letter from its leg and shooed it off, closing the window.

It was his N.E.W.T. results. He hastily ripped open the envelope with shaky hands, anxiety rising in the pit of his stomach as he quickly scanned the official letter. He couldn't believe his eyes and did a double take.

His feet were faster in responding than his brain as he raced down to the dungeons and burst through the door without knocking.

"I got 'Outstanding' in Potions," he shouted excitedly, waving his transcript in the air in front of him. His breathing was a little laboured with the adrenaline rush, not to mention the fact that he had sprinted the entire way to the dungeons.

Severus looked up from the cauldron he was currently stirring, raising one graceful eyebrow.

"What happened to knocking before you enter, Potter? And where, pray tell, is your Invisibility Cloak? Did the headmaster not explain to you the importance of discretion on your part?" he asked, his hand never wavering from his task.

Harry blushed faintly and ducked his head before continuing. "I thought you would be interested to know, that's all," he answered sheepishly.

"We are at war, in case you had not noticed. If you need to speak with me use the Floo, or did the headmaster neglect to tell you about the pot on the mantle in your rooms?" he questioned, looking back down to the cauldron before taking out the stirring rod and placing it neatly onto the desk.

Harry had the sense to look chastised. "No, sir, the headmaster explained everything. I was just so shocked at the results that I ran down here without thinking. I assure you, it won't happen again." Harry shuffled his feet as he spoke to the ground. He mentally kicked himself for acting so foolishly.

"Do you doubt my ability as a professor, Potter?" Severus sneered before adding, "Were you seen by anyone? Perhaps a ghost?"

"I don't think so," Harry replied, his face lifting to look at the wizard before him, and Severus couldn't help but look into the eyes of the young man – the eyes of his one love, Lily, long dead, staring eerily back at him.

Severus let out a huff. "Very good, Potter. And pray tell, what did you attain in Defence Against the Dark Arts?"

"'Outstanding'," Harry replied as he scanned the parchment in his hand.

"I see." The Potions master went over to the sink and washed up the rod as well as his hands, wiping them methodically before turning back to Harry.

"As I have done all I can for the day, let's go and put that 'Outstanding' into practice," Severus huffed, a slight quirk upon his lips, before sweeping over to Harry, his wand extended.

Harry shied away from the wand and almost pulled his own before Severus tapped him once on the head. He felt the telltale signs of a Disillusionment Charm as the effects made its way down his body and he shivered at the frosty feeling caused by the charm.

Almost before Harry could blink, Severus had made his way to the door of his classroom and was gone in a flurry of robes.

Harry stood there dumbfounded for a couple of seconds before he hastily shoved the letter into one of the pockets of his robes. He quickly caught up with Severus, the door to Severus's classroom slamming shut behind him, but he had to jog keep up with the wizard's longer strides.

Severus made several twists and turns, using short cuts that Harry had not known about previously. Before long, Harry was lost and had no idea where they were heading. When Severus came to an abrupt halt, Harry almost ran into him, pulling up quickly to avoid the collision.

Severus started to pace back and forth, and it was then that Harry realised where they were standing. They were in front of the Room of Requirement, and his brow furrowed as he tried to work out why they were here of all places.

The door magically appeared in the wall, and Severus strode over to it in his usual melodramatic way and yanked on the door handle. Harry had enough sense to follow the wizard quickly into the room before the door closed.

Harry gasped in surprise as he took in his surroundings. They were standing by an exact replica of the Hogwarts lake.

Severus paused at the foot of the lake. The light was reflecting off the surface, and the water was calm and peaceful. He turned abruptly to face Harry, lifting his wand and tapping him on the head again. As Harry appeared visible once more, he was staring at Severus, a look of uncertainty on his face.

"I trust you know how to run, Potter?"

A moment's hesitation on the boy's part was all Severus needed for the familiar sneer to appear on his face.

"It is moderately uncomplicated really; as you have demonstrated that you know how to walk, all you do is speed up the process," Severus continued sardonically.

"I know how to run, you g..." Harry mumbled.

"Manners, boy. Now since you say you know what to do, I suggest you start running around the lake, and I will tell you when to stop."

Harry was dumbfounded. How was running even remotely linked with Defence Against the Dark Arts? Any idiot could run.

Severus folded his arms across his chest as he raised his eyebrow once more.

Harry groaned as he took off his outer robe and folded it neatly. He was not even wearing what he would consider running gear, but at least he was wearing his trainers. He took off at a fast-paced jog around the lake, counting each footfall as it came down.

"Stupid running," he voiced, but continued nonetheless around the large lake. He had been quite perplexed when he had seen what the room had provided for them, and he still had no idea what it was all about. All he knew was that his legs were becoming tired and he was beginning to sweat.

Running a hand across his forehead as he reached the starting point once more, he stopped near the dark-haired wizard, trying to make his breath return to normal by taking in lungful after lungful of oxygen.

"Did I tell you to stop?" snapped the professor.

"No, but..."

"Then I suggest you continue."

Harry groaned louder this time as he took off around the lake for the second lap. He was thankful for the fact that he was an athlete, playing Quidditch for Gryffindor, but he knew he used different muscles riding a broom than for running, and his legs felt like dead weights attached to his body.

"One, two, three, four," he counted under his breath.

Out of nowhere, a spell grazed his shoulder, and he was falling to the ground, frantically looking around for the enemy whilst trying to keep his glasses on his face. Another spell; this one was closer, and he scrambled to find some cover in the bushes beside the lake and draw his wand.

"Shit," he swore, trying to will his breathing to slow down so he could pinpoint where the assault was coming from. Suddenly he realised that he had left his wand in his outer robes next to Severus, halfway across the lake.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," he cursed and began to panic. No doubt that it was Severus who was trying to prove a point by sending the spells his way. He wouldn't really hurt him, would he?

Great, he thought to himself, some hero of the wizarding world I turned out to be. I can't even remember to take my wand with me.

He continued to berate himself until another jet of red light shot over to the right of where he was hiding. Harry was just about to make a run for it when Severus appeared out of nowhere in front of him.

"Really, it looks as if they hand out O's like lollies nowadays," Severus scoffed as he stood there with his wand pointed at Harry, a fleeting grin on his face.

"You berk," Harry shouted, jumping up from where he was crouched beside the bushes and pushing Severus back with both hands.

Severus faulted as he stumbled backwards a couple of paces, not expecting the physical assault.

"Resorting to physical violence, I see," Severus commented as he looked down at the young man who was still gulping for air. "It is the refuge of the intellectually weak."

"You almost gave me a heart attack, Severus," Harry explained, a little calmer now, as he brushed the leaves and twigs off his clothes and hair.

"Well, perhaps next time you will bear in mind that you do have a fully functioning wand. It does not leave your side, no matter what activity you are currently pursuing, is that understood?"

Harry nodded his head solemnly. He hated to look like a fool in front of Severus, but he knew it was a lesson he would not forget in a hurry.

The professor produced Harry's wand from one of his many side pockets and proffered it to the young man. Harry took it eagerly and evaluated the feel of it in his hand, turning it over and over again. It felt right, like an extension of his very being.

"You have learnt a very valuable lesson today, Harry," Severus said sternly. "Your wand is a part of who you are. Use that fact to your advantage."

Severus turned abruptly, having put his point across, and made his way back to the door of the Room of Requirement.

Harry, suitably chastised, gathered his robes and jogged once more to catch up to his mentor, following him out of the room. This had without a doubt been a lesson he would commit to memory.

***

Draco had taken the Dark Mark the night he had left Hogwarts. He had knelt before the Dark Lord and held out his left forearm, which was bared up to the elbow. The blond-haired wizard had felt an agonising pain shoot straight from the Dark Lord's wand into his forearm and race around his body. He had closed his eyes briefly, trying to deal with the pain, gritting his teeth together to keep himself from crying out. When he had opened them briefly, he had caught sight of his father through the corner of his eye and had seen the pride in his father's eyes; seen the way the elder Malfoy had stood taller, his presence somehow stronger in stature, than Draco had ever seen before. And so he endured this anguish deep within his very core, for the look of pride in his father's usually cold grey eyes.

These thoughts were running through his head as he made his way down the narrow staircase that led to the dungeons. He truly hated it down here as it was damp, and the mould hung in the air with a stench that seeped right into his clothes and wouldn't come out. But still he came. As the wall sconces flared to life, casting an unearthly glow upon the dismal space, he strutted his way along the corridor, inspecting the heavy oak doors that lay to his left.

Draco had left Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry the previous month and having fulfilled all his prior obligations, he was feeling bored and decided to have a little fun with the slaves his father kept down here.

Wrinkling up his nose at the dampness that this place held, he went to the far end of the dungeons and decided to make his way backwards. He would inspect all of the slaves and make his mind up which one would be his conquest for the evening.

Standing before the door at the end, he felt a weird tingling in his very centre. He shook himself and ran his hand through his hair and over his handsome face. Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he opened the heavy wooden door and stepped through.

The blond-haired boy took out his wand as a precaution and lit the sconces on the far wall. That accomplished, he took two more steps into the cell and looked around. His eyes immediately went to the right where he spied an old wooden table with a bowl of broth, an apple and a glass of water.

Pitiful, he thought to himself as he scanned the rest of this small cell.

Suddenly something rushed from under the bed, and Draco, in disbelief, took a couple of steps backwards, wand held out in front of him as he prepared to defend himself. But the attack never came; instead, he saw a woman splay herself at the edge of his feet.

'I await your command, Master.' He heard the words from a strangely familiar female voice enter his head.

Staggering backwards in disbelief, he still held his wand at the figure before him.

"Did you speak to me?" he asked, confusion clouding his voice.

'Yes, Master,' she replied once more in his mind.

Draco took a couple of hesitant steps forward and came to stand before the creature. She was clearly in the position of submission with her hands at her side and her knees tucked up under her body. Her head was touching the cold floor.

"Interesting," Draco said more to himself than to her. "My father is a genius." He smirked, putting his wand away and rubbing his chin with his hand.

Draco could sense her confusion at his spoken words.

"Sit up so I can get a good look at you," he sneered, the shock all but dissipating and a sense of awe taking its place.

She did as she was bade and sat back on her heels, her arms touching the ground at her side. She raised her chin but carefully looked down at the man's boots.

A shocked gasp was the only response she received as she saw the boots take a quick step backwards.

"Granger," Draco whispered, a mix of terror and trepidation in his voice.

She was confused. The blond-haired man that she had previously addressed as 'Master' had called her only 'slave', or sometimes 'Mudblood', but never 'Granger'. She had never heard this particular name used by him before.

"Is that really you?" he asked, taking a slow step forward.

Draco laughed. "Merlin, it is." The laughter rang in his voice. "How the mighty have fallen, hey, Mudblood," he spoke, the air of supremacy quickly seeping into his voice once more.

Now there was a name she recognised, and she straightened her back a little more.

He was now circling her as if she were his prey. She was used to this however, and thought nothing of it.

"I thought you were dead," Draco stated with an air of wonderment, "and to think, my own father had you here all along." He paused before continuing, "He never told me about you. All this time, I thought you were dead.

"Stand up," he jeered, and he watched her get to her feet with her head bowed. He took out his wand once more, tapping it into his open left palm.

"Wait until word of this gets back to Scarface and Weasel," he said, his eyes lighting up and a smirk crossing his face. "That is, once I've had you, of course," Draco's tone turned deadly, and he grabbed her by her hair and shoved her away from him. She fell to the floor but didn't utter a sound.

"Strip," he hissed as he once again pointed his wand at the female before him.

She pushed herself up onto her knees as she began to undo the torn robe that she had worn for as long as she could remember.

It was then that Draco noticed the metal collar that was around her neck and the various marks from the blade, whip and other torture devices adorning her body. His eyes opened wide as her tattered robe dropped to the floor.

'I am yours to command, Master,' she spoke once more inside his head, but her tone was flat, as though it was a practised command instead of something she truly wanted.

He struck swiftly as he came up behind her and put a boot in between her shoulder blades and kicked hard. It sent her sprawling across the room, but she had long ago learnt to mask the sounds of pain and surprise, and not so much as a whimper escaped her lips.

Draco advanced on her; she could hear his boots stomping across the small room, and she wanted to cringe, to roll herself into a tiny ball, but she knew better. And so she stayed where she had fallen, awaiting whatever it was that would be meted out by the man behind her, who loathed her so and was very angry with her.

His boots stopped suddenly, and she heard his ragged breathing, which was coming out in quick pants. Then he spoke aloud once more, and she had to wonder why he was not speaking into her mind like her other Master had.

"He has branded you?" he asked, and she noticed that his voice held a hint of panic. "I suppose you do belong to him," he said, his voice now showing nothing but contempt.

He brought his wand up and traced along the LM that was seared into her lower back. She neither flinched nor tried to move away, as she had learnt to just take whatever her Master handed out; he could always make it ten times worse.

"You disgust me, you know," Draco suddenly spat, removing his wand. He moved briskly in front of her, still breathing harshly.

"Look at me," he whispered, his voice taking on an ugly tone that she had heard too often.

Pushing herself up off the ground, she knelt down before him and raised her head carefully, looking at his boots instead of in his eyes.

"I said, look at me," he growled, but she couldn't bring her head up quickly enough to comply with her master's wishes.

She never even saw it coming; he backhanded her across the face and sent her flying once more across the room. He was upon her in an instant, and he brought his boot down on the side of her face. She saw stars as her jaw exploded, but still no sound came out of her tightly pressed lips.

"Crucio," he yelled as he pointed his wand at her. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead as he concentrated all of his hatred towards the woman before him.

She wanted to die. All of the blood running through her veins felt as though it had been replaced with liquid lava, her nerves twisting as her body betrayed her. Her back arched as her eyes rolled back in their sockets. Her mouth opened as though she was about to scream but no sound came out. She tried to crawl away, but every movement caused her more pain, and she finally whimpered in desperation.

Draco ended the curse, panting heavily. He wiped the sweat that was trickling down his forehead on to the sleeve of his robe.

"See, I knew you weren't mute," he laughed.

'Yes, Master,' she panted, still in excruciating pain.

He was on her again in a flash and pulled up her arm roughly to make her stand up. The right side of her face was swollen, and her jaw looked as though it was broken. She was shaky on her legs, but he didn't give a fuck.

"You will speak to me when you're spoken to," he spat viciously in her face. She could smell his breath, and he dropped her arm and took a couple of steps away from her before spinning on his heel and facing her once more. His wand was raised and she was screaming inside her head for this nightmare to end.

Her other master was never this cruel. Since she had the collar on, there was no need for that, and she knew how to read her master's mood and play along accordingly. This master, however, was different. She had never laid eyes on him before, but he looked like a younger version of her other master, perhaps his son. But he was unpredictable at best, and she didn't know what to expect.

"Now, Mudblood," he spat out the word as if he were sullying his mouth with something distasteful, "we are going to play a game," he jeered at her. "This game has consequences, though," he paused before continuing, "so I want you to do exactly as I say, and if you do not comply, or are too slow in carrying out my wishes, you will be punished." He spoke as though he were speaking to a child, enunciating each word carefully.

He was circling her once more, and she tried very hard to listen to the words he was saying, but it was difficult with the blood rushing in her ears and her nerves still twitching painfully.

"Take me into your mouth," he said as he undid his trousers.

She did as he asked, immediately dropping to her knees on the unrelenting stone floor. Gods, her body was in pain, but she wasn't about to disobey a direct order; the collar saw to that.

As she knelt before him, she opened her mouth to receive his slightly soft prick, and it felt like every muscle in her jaw snapped. She couldn't protest even if she wanted to, and he hummed his approval as he slid into her warm, wet mouth.

He hardened rapidly as he started to thrust eagerly inside her mouth.

Her other master, the one she knew well, had taught her to deep throat, if by teaching it was meant that she had no choice but to take it all in or choke. She was nothing if not a quick learner.

Draco closed his eyes and threw his head back. He never thought the Mudblood would feel this good, and his hands came up and wrapped into her hair harshly, pulling himself deeper into her waiting mouth. His movement was getting more and more erratic as he neared his completion.

With one final deep thrust, he came inside her mouth, shooting his warm seed down her throat. He groaned out loud as he came, and when he was done he pushed her away from him and quickly did up his trousers.

She was lying on her side, and she didn't move as she heard him rustling behind her.

"That was acceptable," he sneered as his breathing slowed down to its normal pace once more. "I knew that mouth was good for something besides the answers to every question. I shall be back later for a repeat performance."

And with that, he left her lying there in the flicker of light, bruised and broken. She didn't move from the spot, as she was too afraid of what would happen if he were to return.

***

Draco made his way up from the dungeons, a huge smirk on his face. He was humming softly to himself.

Who would have thought that Granger could give such good head, he thought as his smirk widened into an unpleasant grin.

He was still wearing the grin when he entered his father's library, to see Lucius himself sitting before the fireplace.

"My, my, but we are pleased with ourselves, aren't we," Lucius mocked as he looked up from the Dark Arts text he was currently perusing.

After months of fruitless searching, he had found this Dark text, which was proving to be quite promising in finding the secret of the hidden power behind the collar now adorning the neck of the Mudblood, currently safely tucked away in his dungeons. It seemed, from his readings so far, that a mixture of blood, an open wound, and bodily secretions opened up a whole new world of possibilities to the captor. He wondered idly if Voldemort knew of the power he could wield with this particular formula. It was feasible that his master had overlooked this possibility, but he wouldn't be willing to bet his life on it.

He thought back to the brand he had given her, no less than his own initials, which lay engraved upon her flesh in the small of her back. He could always change it to an 'LV', though he doubted that his Lord would ever sully his eyes by looking at the Mudblood's naked body. Being more reptilian than human, he wasn't interested in the needs of his body. Lucius thought, not for the first time, that was why his Lord had wizards like himself carry out the sexual torture and rape of prisoners instead of doing it himself.

He had tried to erase his brand, thinking his Master would be infuriated with him for marking something that was not his own, but no amount of healing spells or Dark Magic put so much as a dent in the scarred flesh. After hours of failed attempts, he had been so frustrated that he took it out on the slave instead.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Draco asked, interrupting Lucius's thoughts.

He looked up at Draco as he went over to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of brandy. "Tell you what?" Lucius replied, snapping out of his current musings with a frown spreading across his face.

"About Granger," Draco responded nonchalantly.

His back was towards Lucius, so he didn't have time to defend himself as the older man moved with a speed that Draco had seldom seen. The Dark book was thrown to one side and lay on the floor, its pages bent oddly as Lucius sprinted over to his son.

Lucius pulled the boy's hair back so roughly he almost pulled it out by its roots, and he pushed his cane across Draco's throat. The fangs of the serpent were near enough to strike his perfect white skin, should the young man make a false move. This was as close to a warning as Draco would ever get from the man he called his father.

The younger man was startled, dropping the glass of brandy that he had been lifting up to his lips. The glass bounced once, splashing its contents on the rug under his feet before lying still. Draco knew better than to bring his hands up to defend himself, so he curled his fingers into rigid fists at his side.

"How do you know about her?" Lucius's deadly whisper was a promise of worse to come. His body was pressing up against Draco's, and the cabinet, which was in front of him, was pressing uncomfortably into his hips. Draco knew there was no getting out of this one, so he tried to play up to his father.

"Oh, come on, Father, I was bored and decided to take a little stroll down to the dungeons to relieve some of the stress," Draco replied. His voice was calm, but inside he was scared stiff. He rarely, if ever, saw his father lose control like this and all over a Mudblood; it was absurd.

The cane tightened around Draco's throat, and he struggled to breathe. Lucius's hand pulled tighter still on his son's hair.

"And how did you leave the Dark Lord's pet?" Lucius spoke the words softly into Draco's ear.

Draco immediately stiffened as he tried to push hard against the stronger arms of his father.

"I didn't know," he whined. "I would have never..." The fangs cut into the tender skin on his neck as two drops of blood fell downwards.

Lucius pushed Draco away from him, and he landed haphazardly across the settee.

"That's your problem, isn't it, boy?" he sneered. "You don't think. There are few secrets I hide from you, son, and the Mudblood just happens to be one of them. Now that you know, the Dark Lord will be most displeased with both of us." He turned away and poured himself a brandy from the decanter that his son had left on the sideboard, taking a hearty swig.

"He doesn't have to know," Draco whispered as he scrambled to his feet, panic in his voice.

Lucius laughed. "You think that you can hide that little fact from the world's greatest Legilimens?" Lucius scoffed as he once more pursued Draco, who quickly straightened up and circled around the settee, keeping it between himself and his father.

"Wait," the younger man said, holding up both of his hands, "you can always Obliviate me," he pleaded, his eyes wide with terror at the mere thought of the Dark Lord's wrath.

Lucius stopped in his tracks and weighed up his options. Draco was right; there was no other option but to Obliviate him. He would have to keep a closer eye on his son from now on and place a warding spell on the Mudblood's cell. He could afford no further slip-ups in the Dark Lord's plans, as he wasn't currently a favourite in the Death Eater ranks after his Lord had to come and put the collar on his slave.

He placed his drink down on the sideboard, and pulling his wand out of his cane, he spoke the words that he never thought he would say to his own son.

"Obliviate." He didn't even bother cleaning up the mess that Draco had made, but instead he walked out of the library and down to the dungeons, leaving Draco lying sprawled out on the settee.

***

Lucius walked briskly down to the dungeons, a murderous look on his face. All this trouble because the boy just had to get his rocks off. He shook his head as he descended the narrow stairway.

Marching up to the last door, he quickly took out his wand and barged through the door, tossing the cane down at the entrance. The sight that met his eyes caused him to cringe inwardly; not for the Mudblood, of course, but for his own hide were the Dark Lord to find out.

She had come a long way from the time he had first received her into this cell. The collar, he knew, played a large part in that, and although he hated to admit it, he had grown quite fond of the Mudblood in a strange, twisted way. Not that he would let his fondness get in the way of what had to be done, but when the Dark Lord had won this war, perhaps he would ask his Lord for the Mudblood as a reward – if he were still standing at the end.

She was lying there naked and obviously in pain as he stepped in front of her. She attempted to get into the position of submissiveness that she knew he liked, but her nerves and muscles were not co-operating.

'Forgive me, Master,' she whispered into Lucius' mind.

Lucius released his breath in some surprise at the fact that she was still living. He could see she was in agony when she attempted to move.

'Don't move,' he responded into her mind, his voice kinder than she had anticipated.

He swiftly picked up her still jerking body and waved his wand at the bed. A mattress appeared, and he laid her down on it almost tenderly. He then wiped her hair out of her eyes with one gloved hand. He could see the snot, tear tracks, and bruising on her face.

Lucius clenched his jaw in anger. He would teach the boy to respect his property and that of the Dark Lord. Lifting his wand up to her face, he gently healed the bruising and set to work repairing the broken jaw. He was nothing if not efficient in his healing spells and worked carefully towards his goal.

"Better?" he asked, his voice placid as it caressed her newly healed ears.

'Thank you, Master, you are most generous,' she spoke, even as her body was still reeling in the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse.

He left her side then and went to retrieve her discarded robe. He came back to her and placed it over her.

'Are you cold?' he asked, never uttering a sound.

She had to wonder at this new caring side to her Master. She hesitated for a split second before wearily replying, 'A little.'

He conjured up a blanket for her then and placed it almost lovingly around her. She shivered once more, not from the curse this time, but from something else.

"Unfortunately, I can do nothing for the curse that my son has placed on you," he spat as he looked at the far wall. "Sleep is the best cure for that." And stroking her hair once more, he left her side and closed the door behind him.

She had to wonder about this side of her Master's personality. Why hadn't she seen it before? Oh yes, he could be cruel; she had seen that side of him often enough, but – affectionate? She would have to keep a close eye on him if she were to work this one out, but for now her eyes were heavy and she closed them, letting sleep take away her pain.

***

This chapter was beta read by the wonderful AmyLouise. Thanks so much, babe.

Thanking everyone who has reviewed and stuck with this story. I cannot guarantee regular updates; however, I will not abandon this story. Once again, reviews are very much appreciated.