The beginning of November brought forth a more peaceful the the previous months. The weather had grown colder, but it almost made him feel more at home. Frost slowly started coating the windows and grass, reminding him of tales of Jack Frost. For the most part, between school and quidditch practice starting up, he hadn't seen much of Draco. If Draco had tried to talk to him, he was probably too immersed in his homework to notice. His mind was preoccupied, and to the relief of both him and his family, he hadn't gotten into trouble in weeks.

His cellphone had come in handy though. A phone call to Mycroft had set up something he was pleased with. Mycroft too was suspicious of the weird goings on with Hogwarts, which meant one thing, Mycroft wanted Hogwarts observed. Of course, running the government, or as he would put it, his small part in the government, he couldn't do it himself, but what he could do is plant people he trusted in the near area.

This is what lead to Sherlock and John suddenly joining the Hogwarts Staff.

It was quite fortunate that the old Muggle Studies teacher had suddenly received an all expenses paid vacation to some undisclosed location. Mycroft promised she deserved a good vacation and it would be fun and pleasant.

And so, the position was open, and maybe, just maybe, the Ministry of Magic may have pressured Dumbledore, by bid of Mycroft, to hire actual muggles who knew about the muggle world and were very well educated. It was only for a year, but Harry felt that was probably good, at least as far as John was concerned.

"Students, I would like to extend a warm welcome to our substitute Muggle Studies teachers. Professor Holmes, and Professor Watson. They may be muggles, but who else best to teach about the muggle world. They will be dividing the lesson plans between them, while also helping with some other things around the castle." Dumbledore ended his introduction vaguely, and most of the students seemed incredibly confused.

"Would you two like to say a few words?" Dumbledore asked, and even from where Harry was sitting, he could tell the headmaster wasn't taking no for an answer. He nearly smacked his head in disbelief. You did not want Sherlock giving a speech.

"Oh, um... very well. My name is John Watson, that's Sherlock Holmes, though you will be calling us professor. We are muggles, yes, but.. we are... smart!" John was struggling. Alright, maybe you didn't want either to make a speech.

"Aren't those the two who adopted Harry Potter?" He heard someone whisper, and he was starting to see why kids in movies hated having everyone know their parent was a teacher. Kids around him were snicker, and Hermione gave him a pitying look.

"I believe what my... Friend is trying to express, is while we were not raised on this magic business, we do have our own strengths. John Watson is a medical doctor in our world, and served in the afghan war. I hold degrees in multiple factions of science, and I can identify almost anything from a person solely by looking at them." Sherlock said, and the room silenced a bit. "I can give an example, if you wish... May I have a volunteer." Harry could practically feel John's exasperation. Sherlock Holmes, the greatest show off that there ever had been.

"I'll volunteer!"

"Perfect, stand up for me." Sherlock said, hopping over the head table, and off the stage, startling McGonagall to the point she looked like she might have a heart attack. "Alright, what's your name?"

"Seamus."

"Seamus, perfect, thank you for your bravery, you are fit for your house indeed." Sherlock said, and Harry could see Seamus puff out in pride, though Harry wasn't sure that was the compliment Seamus thought it was.

"Alright, now why don't you tell me something Seamus, anything, could be the truth, a lie, whatever you so choose." He said.

"Um... alright. Me mum is a witch, and my dad is a muggle, like you. I have to say I haven't heard of you before though. Other then from Harry, that is." Seamus said. At this Sherlock's glance moved to Harry and smiled at his son.

"Wonderful, thank you, you may have a seat." He said, before heading back.

"Wait, that's it?"

"Yes, that's it, I have everything I need to know."

"And what to you know exactly, Professor?" Dumbledore's voice rang out and stopped Sherlock in his tracks, before the man turned back to the students.

"I know that Mr. Seamus Finnigan is a half blood, that much he's told me. He takes extreme pride in his house, meaning he likely has a familiar connection to it, your mother I'm assuming. You are both very much invested in the port known as Quidditch, after all you have a ticket stub for a game including the Irish team, issued to one Seamus Finnigan, tucked in your pocket. Your spells have a tendency to backfire, as evident by the residue found on your wrist, your dominant wrist based on which hand you shot into the air in enthusiasm." Sherlock said in a rapid fire pace.

"Oh, and you have heard of me. Your hand shot up as I barely finished asking for a volunteer, your pupils dilated a tad when I approached you, meaning you're a fan, likely a way you bond with your father. Also your voice had a mild tremor to it, the flush of your cheeks increased slightly meaning your heart rate increased, and your spot on the table has a newspaper on it. A muggle newspaper, and not a recent one. Date issued four weeks ago, right after the last case." Sherlock said.

"I believe it was the one about the woman found in her bathtub?" He said.

"She was found in her fountain." Seamus replied confidently.

"Yes, thank you for proving how big of a fan you are." Sherlock's smirk was bold.

"Between my fellow muggle and I, we will be able to determine whether or not even one toe is stepped out of line. Every plagiarized essay, every little thing we will see. John will be teaching skills you will need to survive in muggle society when you can't magic your way out of every problem, I will be teaching classes on the sciences, and we will divide up history of muggle inventions and useful things you should know, should you ever be stuck in the muggle world. While this class is optional, from what I gather exposing magic to muggles without just cause is quite the problem for you." Sherlock said as he returned gracefully up to the head table, not jumping over it this time.

"And, just perhaps, if you take every lesson seriously and don't waste our time, then perhaps I will teach you a thing or two on the art of deduction, which is how I was able to get to know Mr. Finnigan so well." And with that, Sherlock was seated, as were the rest of the teachers.

The whole Great hall instantly fell into chatter.

"That was brilliant!"

"So that's where Harry gets it from!"

"harry, your dads are so cool!"

Harry felt a lot more confident now. Maybe a speech from Sherlock wasn't such a bad thing after all.

It had only been a week, and Sherlock already had his gun taken away, tried to procure house elves for specimen based research, and had plucked hairs from several students with plans on testing their DNA, looking for the science behind their magic, and why some where considered, as Dumbledore said, Squibs.

Maybe it was for the best that Sherlock also wasn't receiving longterm employment out of this. It may just be safer for the students.

Still, Having Sherlock and John around made this place even more home then before. Not to mention he could explain everything he discovered, though did his best not to give away information that might get hi in trouble.

His father's knew what to keep their eyes on, and were ready for the truth behind their task.

However Harry couldn't focus on that right now. the first Quidditch match of the season was this weekend. It was Gryffindor versus Slytherin and he had to be ready. If Gryffindor won, they would move up into second place in the house championship. Hardly anyone had seen Harry play because Wood had decided that, as their secret weapon, Harry should be kept, well, secret. But the news that he was playing Seeker had leaked, and Harry didn't know which was worse -- people telling him he'd be brilliant or people telling him they'd be running around underneath him holding a mattress.

Harry was rather glad he and Hermione made up. Despite not really needing it generally, Quidditch was taking up so much of his mind that his homework would have stuggled. She also lent him Quidditch Through the Ages, which turned out to be a very interesting read.

Harry learned that there were seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul and that all of them had happened during a World Cup match in 1473; that Seekers were usually the smallest and fastest players, and that most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to them; that although people rarely died playing Quidditch, referees had been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert.

Hermione had become a bit more relaxed about breaking rules since Harry and Ron had saved her from the mountain troll, and she was much nicer for it. The day before Harry's first Quidditch match the three of them were out in the freezing courtyard during break, and she had conjured them up a bright blue fire that could be carried around in a jam jar. They were standing with their backs to it, getting warm, when Snape crossed the yard. Harry noticed at once that Snape was limping. Harry, Ron, and Hermione moved closer together to block the fire from view; they were sure it wouldn't be allowed. Unfortunately, something about their guilty faces caught Snape's eye. He limped over. He hadn't seen the fire, but he seemed to be looking for a reason to tell them off anyway.

"What's that you've got there, Potter?"

"A book, why?" Harry asked calmly, an eyebrow being raised at Snape's question.

"Library books are not to be taken outside the school," said Snape. "Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor."

Before Snape could take it, he was cut off.

"Hey, What's this?" John asked.

"Mr. Watson." Snape started. "Your son brought a library book outside the school. It's against the rules.

"I did not, Hermione lent me her copy." Harry rebutted.

"Even so, I've read the school rules, there's no rule against bringing library books outside of Hogwarts, just off of school grounds without permission." John said, crossing his arms. Snape glared.

"He's still been disrespectful. Ten points from Gryffindor."

"Ten points to Gryffindor." John almost cut off Snape, and Harry could almost hear the gears stop in Snape's head.

"You can't play favourites as a teacher, Mr. Watson."

"It's not about favourites, It could be a Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. If I see a teacher making up rules in order to take points away from my students, I will step in. Furthermore, I've heard of how you treat other students besides those in your own house, you may want to learn to take your own advice." John stood tall against Snape's glare, unwavering.

"Mr. Watson, it would do you well to learn your place here." Snape sneered.

"I know my place, and it's Professor to you." John shut down. Snape's rage seemed to block his ability to speak, leading him to stomp away, or, at least he would stomp, if he wasn't limping.

"Wonder what's wrong with his leg?"

"Dunno, but I hope it's really hurting him," said Ron bitterly.

The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat together next to a window. Hermione was checking Harry and Ron's Charms homework for them. She would never let Ron copy ("How will you learn?"), but by asking her to read it through, he got the right answers anyway. Harry was only having her check it over because he had so much on his mind. He usually had most of the answers right, it was usually just spelling mistakes or small errors.

Harry was happy to have his book, but it has sparked something in John to keep an eye on the Slytherin head of house.

John headed down to the Staffroom, as that was the last place anyone had seen Snape. He pushed the door ajar and peered inside -- and a horrible scene met his eyes.

Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above his knees. One of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing Snape bandages.

"Blasted thing*," Snape was saying. "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?"

John kept quiet, closing the door just slightly, before opening it boldly, catching Snape and Filch off guard. Snape's face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg.

"Oh my, that looks quite terrible. Take a tumble?" John asked, feigning concern.

"I... What happens to me in my spare time is none of your concern."

"Well I am a Doctor, so it's generally my job to look after the sick and injured." John rebutted. Snape's shock was a nice change of expression.

"Like I would trust some muggle doctor with my problems." Snape scoffed.

"Ah, to boring for you, eh? Well at the very least may I recommend you get it checked by Madame Pomfrey? The depth of those cuts could have some nerve and tendon damage, which if not looked at quickly could become permanent." John said, his expression softened, and his kindness seemed to take Snape off guard.

"I will... take your suggestion into consideration... Professor." Snape seemed more polite, though had to grit his teeth when saying Professor.

"Happy to help." John said, before grabbing an apple that was in there and walking out. He knew what he needed to do now, he needed to talk to Harry and Sherlock.

Quick texts sent to the two made it possible to arrange a meeting for the group, but he gave a quick summary to the two, allowing the two smarter people the chance to analyze what he saw.

"You know what this means?" Harry finished after explaining what John saw, pulling the two aside to somewhere more private. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog at Halloween! That's where he was going when we saw him -- he's after whatever it's guarding! And Id bet my broomstick he let that troll in, to make a diversion!" Hermione's eyes were wide.

"No -- he wouldn't, she said. "I know he's not very nice, but he wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."

"Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something," snapped Ron. "I'm with Harry. I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But what's he after? What's that dog guarding?"

Harry went to bed with his head buzzing with the same question. Neville was snoring loudly, but Harry couldn't sleep. He tried to empty his mind -- he needed to sleep, he had to, he had his first Quidditch match in a few hours -- but the expression on Snape's face when Harry had seen his

leg wasn't easy to forget.

The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match. Breakfast was hard to focus on, but he forced himself to eat, knowing he would need the energy for the game. He didn't want to let anyone down because he had refused to eat.

By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes.

Ron and Hermione joined Neville, Seamus, and Dean the West Ham fan up in the top row. As a surprise for Harry, they had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said Potter for President, and Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colours.

Meanwhile, in the locker room, Harry and the rest of the team were changing into their scarlet Quidditch robes (Slytherin would be playing in green).

Wood cleared his throat for silence.

"Okay, men," he said.

"And women," said Chaser Angelina Johnson.

"And women," Wood agreed. "This is it."

"The big one," said Fred Weasley.

"The one we've all been waiting for," said George.

"We know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred told Harry, "we were on the team last year."

"Shut up, you two," said Wood. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it."

He glared at them all as if to say, "Or else."

"Right. It's time. Good luck, all of you."

Harry fell into formation, and trying to enter his mind palace. A technique Sherlock taught him. It helped whenever the man needed to figure something out, but for Harry, it often helped calm his anxiety.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once they were all gathered around her. Harry noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a sixth year. Harry thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing Potter for President over the crowd. His heart skipped. He felt braver.

He also saw Sherlock and John's smiling faces and John's frantic waving. Even Mycroft had shown up, waving sheepishly, though seemed like he was trying to hide that he was wanting to be there.

"Mount your brooms, please."

Harry clambered onto his Nimbus Two Thousand.

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle. Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off. "And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor -- what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too --"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

The game continued somewhere along this line, His job however, was just to maintain height for now, and wait for him to see the snitch. There was no point entering the fray and putting himself in harms way when he wasn't needed yet.

When Gryffindor scored, cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

"Budge up there, move along."

"Hagrid!"

Ron and Hermione squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them.

"Bin watchin' from me hut," said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck, "But it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?"

"Nope," said Ron. "Harry hasn't had much to do yet."

"Kept outta trouble, though, that's somethin'," said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Harry. Way up above them, Harry was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch. This was part of his and Wood's game plan.

"Keep out of the way until you catch sight of the Snitch," Wood had said. "We don't want you attacked before you have to be."

Once he caught sight of a flash of gold, but it was just a reflection from one of the Weasleys' wristwatches, and once a Bludger decided to come pelting his way, more like a cannonball than anything, but Harry dodged it and Fred Weasley came chasing after it.

"All right there, Harry?" he had time to yell, as he beat the Bludger furiously toward Marcus Flint.

"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the — wait a moment -- was that the Snitch?"

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

Harry saw it. In a great rush of excitement he dived downward after the streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch -all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch.

Harry was faster than Higgs. He could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead, he put on an extra spurt of speed—

WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below, Marcus Flint had blocked Harry on purpose, and Harry's broom spun off course, Harry holding on for dear life.

"Foul!" screamed the Gryffindors.

Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goal posts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.

Harry retook his position in the air, noticing John had already started yelling at someone for this.

"So, after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating-

"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul —"

"Jordan, I'm warning you —"

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinner, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."

It was as Harry dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past his head, that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a split second, he thought he was going to fall. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. He'd never felt anything like that.

Logically, as far as he could tell nothing natural was causing it. He hadn't shifted his balance or done anything to cause it, and there wasn't nearly enough wind to cause problems. It meant magic had to be behind it. Still, it was kind of hard to look around and get any clue as to what was happening when his eyes couldn't focus on anything. being shook about will do that to you after all. Harry tried to turn back toward the Gryffindor goal, but he couldn't regain any control. It was a nauseating experience at the very minimum, but from this height, a fall could be seriously detrimental to his health.

He couldn't direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the air, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseated him.

Lee was still commentating.

"Slytherin in possession -- Flint with the Quaffle -- passes Spinnet — passes Bell -- hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose -- only joking, Professor -- Slytherins score -- A no...

"Dunno what Harry thinks he's doing," Hagrid mumbled. He stared through his binoculars.

"He's lost control..." John's voice caught the attention of those around them. Mycroft, John, and Sherlock all jumped to their feet, John darting towards the teachers and Madame Hooch, yelling for a time out, all the while Mycroft and Sherlock were looking around, trying to identify the cause. From what they heard, Harry was a magnificent flyer. There was no way he would lose track of his broom.

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry's broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on

with only one hand.

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?"Mycroft asked

"Impossible," Sherlock spoke, looking around. "From what I've read, nothing can interfere with a broomstick except for dark magic."

At these words, Hermione seized Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of looking up at Harry, she started looking frantically at the crowd.

"What are you doing?" moaned Ron, grey-faced.

"I knew it," Hermione gasped, "Snape -- look."

Ron grabbed the binoculars. Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering nonstop under his breath.

"He's doing something -- jinxing the broom," said Hermione.

"What should we do?"

"If you are able to do anything, please do." Mycroft said, as Sherlock snatched the binoculars.

"Spells like there require eye contact, correct?" Sherlock asked. "Create a distraction, a big one. If you do I'll figure out a way to award you points in secrecy." Sherlock said, turning to the girl who now stared at him wide eyed, before she schooled her expression and nodded firmly.

"Leave it to me." She said with confidence.

Before Ron could say another word, Hermione had disappeared. Ron took back the binoculars and turned them back on Harry. His broom was vibrating so hard, it was almost impossible for him to hang on much longer. The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Harry safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good -- every time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell.

Marcus Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron muttered desperately.

Hermione had fought her way across to the stand where Snape stood, and was now racing along the row behind him; she didn't even stop to say sorry as she knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front. Reaching Snape, she crouched down, pulled out her wand, and whispered a few, well- chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from her wand onto the hem of Snape's robes.

It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realize that he was on fire. A sudden yelp told her she had done her job. Scooping the fire off him into a little jar in her pocket, she scrambled back along the row, Snape would never know what had happened. It was enough. Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back on to his broom.

"Neville, you can look!" Ron said. Neville had been sobbing into Hagrid's jacket for the last five minutes.

Harry was speeding toward the ground when the crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick -- he hit the field on all fours -- coughed -- and something gold fell into his hand.

"I've got the Snitch!" he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.

"He didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it," Flint was still howling twenty minutes later, but it made no difference, Harry hadn't broken any rules and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the results, Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty. Harry heard none of this, though. He was being made a cup of strong tea back in Hagrid's hut, with John, Sherlock, Mycroft, Ron, and Hermione.

"It was Snape," Ron was explaining, "Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid, who hadn't heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"

"Professor Holmes saw it to, didn't you?" Hermione looked up, as Sherlock seemed rather distracted.

"I saw... something, but I'm not sure I could confirm or deny anything right now. I need to look into this further."

"I bet it was him. Trying to take a book from Harry is one thing, but this! He could have killed him!" John was still having a hard time calming down.

"You saw the others on his team. I don't know how Harry managed to gather such a loyal team of goldfish but-"

"They're my friends." Harry snapped, mildly glaring at his uncle, who stopped in his tracks.

"Of course, apologies." Mycroft said, and that was the last thing he said on the topic.

"Not to mention those scratches on his leg, and something about three heads." John said, as if he hadn't heard Mycroft speak.

"Three heads?" Hagrid asked, and there was a nervous tone in his voice.

"I found out something about him," he told Hagrid. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding."

Hagrid dropped the teapot.

"How do you know about Fluffy?" he said.

"Fluffy?"

"Yeah -- he's mine -- bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year."

"Are you saying a greek man sold you a three headed dog?" Mycroft asked. At this point anything seemed possible, Hagrid only nodded.

"I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the-"

"Yes?" said Harry eagerly.

"Now, don't ask me anymore," said Hagrid gruffly. "That's top secret, that is."

"But Snape's trying to steal it."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid again. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort."

"So why did he just try and kill Harry?" cried Hermione. The afternoon's events certainly seemed to have changed her mind about Snape. "I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them! You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" said Hagrid hotly. "I don' know why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student! Now, listen to me, all six of yeh -- yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel —"

"Aha!" said Harry, "so there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?"

Hagrid looked furious with himself.

——————

So the more I thought about it, the more I realized this story was becoming less and less Sherlock, and more just a retelling of Harry Potter with some cool deduction skills. So I brought them back!

I've mentioned in the past I was going to change things up, so be prepared, you really don't know what's going to happen anymore. Anything could change :)

This chapter was way more fun to write, and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. I'm not posting a question of the day today, but I do want to ask you something else. I have a new story Called "The Nightingale". It's my first original story I'll be posting on here, and the first chapter comes out today! So if you could please go check it out, it would mean a lot to me, and leave some feedback so I know what you think.

Set in the 1920s, When a kidnapping victim turned spy ends up in an accidental partnership with the local law enforcement, will history repeat itself? Or will she be able to stop those who took her from ruining her life for a third time? Evelyn Burton's meeting with Detective Jack Andrews seems simple enough, but what happens when the spark between them turns into a flame that's hard to control? Will Evelyn be able to keep those she holds dear safe? Or will all of her secrets be revealed?

if you're interested in following my newest story, please check it out! If not, that's totally okay and I hope you continue to like this series

Thanks!