Disclaimer: All characters, places, and ideas taken from the Harry Potter book series are property of JKR. However, the idea of a Reach is owned by me, since I have taken the idea of a Reach from a series that I am writing, and adapted it ever so slightly to fit this fan-fiction series.
"Some believe that the benefit of death, is that it is possible to see farther on the other side."
~ A.K. Lovell ~
"Tonksie are you okay?"
Emily's sweet voice carried upon the wind, nearly drowned out by the sound of rain pounding upon the umbrella.
She could only shake her head, shaken as a cool breeze swirled around them. Thankfully such subtleties of expression were lost upon the child, who's head was tilted back, her mouth wide open, catching rain drops.
"The waaaateeer's driiiippiiiing on meeee." Emily gurgled gaily.
Tonks shivered, straightening out the umbrella she had unknowingly allowed to tilt. It had hung so low that a sudden cascade of water had fallen down like Victoria Falls onto young Emily's head.
"Sorry Em..." She gasped out, her voice wavering.
"It's okay I like the rain." Emily declared, darting out from beneath the umbrella, stomping her feet merrily in the collecting puddles. "I like puddles too!"
Tonks blinked in surprise. The child's mother had been drowned in one barely a fortnight ago.
"Your friends are in trouble Nymph."
Emily's sopping wet braids swung about her face, her arms held out as she spun in circles, her head tilted skyward catching the rain.
"Tonksie come play!"
Tonksie... Only Remus called her Nymph.
"My God..." She whispered, her body temperature dropping in a way that had nothing to do with the wind.
Over Emily's twirling figure she could see Kenneth Bothan kneeling in the soggy cemetery grass. His wife's grave lay before him, the carefully placed irises scattering in the heavy wind.
"Kenneth! We have to leave here now!"
Remus' ovular eyes opened upon the worst of sights.
It's empty locale lay before him, dead leaves billowing across the dusty pathway leading through the heart of the village.
Not a soul was in sight.
It was here Nott and the others had spoken of. It was here the recruiting had been done. It was here where the Death Eaters would make their first stand. Here in the village, so close to the school...
It was a Hogsmeade weekend.
"Merlin..." He whispered, staggering, the October breeze biting chilly lines across his skin.
Werewolves had no use for clothing.
Roughly, an unclothed forearm scratched across his chin. Flecks of dried blood flaked away, sprinkling the ground with a sinister looking dust. It's morbidity was a stark reminder of his recently fulfilled thirst.
Instinctually, angrily, his claws extended, breaking his skin with a fiery pain. He did not answer Nott, instead he growled lowly, extending his ears into long points.
The hair sprouting, prickling his pointed ears, brought the deathly quiet village to life. Farther off... In the heart of town.... Pleas..... Offers of salvation in exchange for allegiances.....
"That fool of an old man will never know what hit him." Nott's guttural voice was flooded deep with hate. "Well be here and gone before he even gets out his walker."
Not if I can help it...
Lucius' indecipherable growl cut in, breaking through his angry thoughts, arousing something far darker...
It was time to change.
An unnatural heat filled his veins.
Upon the ground where Remus Lupin had been, now stood a werewolf, the pungent scent of freshly spilled blood inundating it's senses.
The wolf pawed the ground eagerly.
His body, felt like it was being drug across glass. It ached, splintering as individual shards sliced his skin.
Shards.... Shards... He tried to grasp onto the word to no avail. It's elusive meaning fled from his pounding skull.
The tight grip on his ankles disappeared, and his feet dropped unceremoniously to the floor. A moment later the reverberations in the floor boards indicated another body being dumped besides him.
With a jerk he was awake, the salty tears of anguish tainting his lips.
It couldn't be real. It couldn't have happened. Not again...
He turned his head in a vain search, struggling to make sense of the blurred world before him. A flash of the palest of yellows caught his eye.
Drifting in and out of focus was Luna Lovegood, sitting cross legged, her wrists tightly bound within her lap, dreamy blue eyes fixated upon him concernedly.
"Why hello Harry." She said congenially.
Just thinking sent a sharp throb through his skull, and he quickly discovered his arms to be bound behind his back.
With a frustrated thump he hit his hands against the floor, a stabbing pain ripping his fist.
He did not need Luna's proclamation to know that a shard of glass now stuck from his hand. The warmth welling from it, trickling down his fingertips, was enough to inform him.
A single crimson drop fell free, it's sound reverberating through his hollow chest.
The suffocating weight of despair struck him hard, paralyzing him.
Ron was gone.
Ginny's unwilling hands had done the unthinkable.
Death Eaters were in Hogsmeade.
A strangled sob shattered the silence.
His fists snapped shut, tugging at the bindings. His eyes, blurred with rage, searched the ruined pub, taking it in with cold calculation.
The floor now resembled a greenhouse, a shattered plant holder had sent soil strewing across it.
Butter beer and other concoctions pooled together in frothy puddles, broken chairs and overturned tables creating hazardous paths.
Broken glass glittered in the afternoon sunlight, casting surreal spectrums across the floor.
He squeezed his fist, the blood flowing down, and began counting.
In the spaces where neither glass nor soil lay, patrons did.
Half a dozen, either unconscious or dead, lay upon the floor at scattered intervals.
The rest, the conscious, had been bound and lined up against the walls.
"Stupid crying Mudblood!"
She lay collapsed against the far wall, her arms bound like his own.
Before her towered a ranting figure clad in black, and clenched within the cruel confines of the Death Eater's fist trailed long locks of bushy hair.
A large bruise ran the length of her tear stained cheek.
"I should have finished the job when I had the chance you filth." Scowled the Death Eater, throwing back his hood.
His breath caught in his throat.
The image of Hermione's limp form in the Department of Mysteries flashed through his mind. She had nearly died at Dolohov's hands...
"What do you think here Ludovic? Should I finish her off?" The Death Eater called out, kneeling in front of her. "Or what about you Mudblood? Care to join your worthless red-headed friend over there?" Dolohov chided, poking her like a slug with the end of his wand.
Hermione's sparkling eyes met Dolohov's unflinchingly, her lips curling back to spit in his face.
He recoiled, a look of the purest revulsion over-sweeping his wasted features. "Oh you filthy..." He muttered, frantically wiping his face in the folds of his cloak.
"Hey Antonin!" An overly cheery voice called out, stopping Dolohov's hand mid-strike. "Since were only supposed to watch the kiddies until He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named gets back, what do you think of..."
Dolohov whorled on the cloaked figure, who had just emerged from behind the bar, waving a salvaged firewhiskey bottle.
"Ludovic he is our Lord and shall be addressed as such!" Dolohov roared dangerously. "One more slip and I'll make sure the Mudblood lover isn't the only corpse in here!"
Ludovic appeared unconcerned, and began filling two whiskey glasses. "Antonin what you need is a good, stiff drink."
Dolohov scowled, quickly aiming a powerful kick to Hermione's midsection. The crack of her ribs echoed between the pub's walls, as did Harry and Neville's cries of protest.
"Now Antonin was that really necessary?" Ludovic asked nervously.
Dolohov turned, his wand raised threateningly. "One. More. Word. Ludovic. Just. One."
Ludovic raised his hands in a conciliatory manner, knocking his hood from his face in the process.
"Now Dolohov she's just a girl. All I was saying is tha...." But the rest of his words were lost upon Harry, for beneath the vise of the dark hood was the boyish face of Ludo Bagman.
Kenneth Bothan's head shot up, while Tonks ran forward, wrapping a protective arm around Emily. The fallen umbrella lay forgotten, spinning in concentric circles upon the pebbled ground, a toy of the billowing wind.
"Kenneth we should leave!" She cried, hoisting Emily into her arms.
Her barely concealed urgency rang true within the President's ears, for he was already sprinting back to where they stood.
He was a man who understood the world's dangers.
Emily squirmed, her auburn head following her father's progress towards them. "Daddy, your knees are all muddy." She scolded seriously.
Kenneth smiled grimly, his jaw set. "I can take her."
Tonks nodded, relinquishing the girl to withdraw her wand. The ever-increasing chill was closing in. It wouldn't be long...
"What's going on?" Kenneth asked urgently.
"No time to explain." She responded, taking off down the path. She could hear Kenneth's heavy footfalls behind her, splashing in the muddied water.
They rounded the bend in the pathway, the heavy grove of trees falling away to reveal the dismal lot. The car, their escape, was in sight, yet heavy despair drenched her soul.
Nymphadora's feet slid in the gravely mud, and she came to a halt, throwing out an arm out to stop what was left of the Bothan family.
It was right then that little Emily Bothan began to whimper.
Kenneth's dark eyes quickly blinked away water. "Tonks what's thi..."
"Daddy we need to run. Please daddy run." Emily was pleading hysterically, her face buried into Kenneth's shoulder.
Staring ahead at the looming figures, Tonks could only shake her head.
"I don't think we have time to run."
Ludo Bagman's bluish eyes turned on him, a pleased smile replacing his previously perplexed one. "Ah... Harry boy. I was wondering when you'd come around."
Dolohov scoffed. "Precious Potter indeed. Tell me Potter, how was your wittle nappy?"
"So tell me Harry," Ludo interjected, seeming determined to steer the conversation his way. "How have things been?"
"Yes wittle Potter. How have things been without that mangy old dog of yours?"
"Antonin...." Ludo sounded distinctly uncomfortable.
In the distant background he could hear Neville's choked stuttering.
"H-how have they been?" Harry repeated, dumbfounded. How have they been!?
"Not too good Mr. Bagman." Luna's misty voice drifted out, answering for him as he gaped like a fish. "Harry's been having a rough year, as you can see."
A pitiless snort came from Dolhov's direction.
"He lost his godfather, and with people such as yourself switching sides and betraying him, I trust you can see why." Luna continued casually.
Bagman was suddenly refilling his drink.
"After all, Harry doesn't want anyone else to die, and when people he trusts start killing people..."
Bagman's glass stopped halfway to his lips, eyes widening defensively. It was a moment before his composure returned.
"Now I've never actually killed anyone per say Miss...."
"Lovegood." She supplied.
"Lovegood." He continued. "It's just that...."
A strange calm had overtaken him, the slight shaking of his own hands lost upon him. "It's just that your content with allowing others to do it for you." He said disdainfully. "Your content with being a coward, with siding with what is easy rather than what is right."
Bagman eyed him apprehensively, swallowing hard. "Now Harry, you know how the Ministry is." He began imploringly. "They never support anyone but themselves..."
"At least they don't kill anyone!" Harry bellowed, arms shaking with suppressed fury.
"But Harry j-just think about this for a s-second. He-Who-Must-Not...I mean my Lord...." He quickly corrected himself, spying the malevolent look of Dolohov. "He just desires the Ministry's downfall. So long as people stay out of his way no one will get hurt. Now I ask you Harry, my boy, is that really so bad?"
"Replacing one dictatorship with another. Sounds logical to me." He retorted sarcastically.
Besides him Luna nodded approval, her fingers drumming against her bindings to some unrecognizable tune.
"When you disappeared my grams was worried about you! Y-you...Your...." Across the room Neville Longbottom's voice rang out, surprising everyone.
Harry caught a glimpse of Neville's uncharacteristically contorted face.
It was frightening.
"Your no better than Bellatrix you slime!"
The poignant accusation hung thickly in the air, no one speaking. Bagman had become very interested in his drink, shifting uncomfortably under the angry eyes of all save for Dolohov.
For someone to turn their backs, on even the Ministry, in favor of Voldemort...
It was unforgivable.
He had nearly forgotten how his own hands bled, the light headed feeling out of place for the situation. Fortunately the free flow of crimson life was slowing, his coagulation factors finally kicking in.
Harry shook his head, ignoring the slight spin of the world. "You were acquitted once Bagman." He hissed, eyes scanning the room for a way out. "So tell me, were you a spineless coward back then too, or just stupid?"
Bagamn cringed. "Harry I was never a Death Eater!"
"But you are now." His voice quivered. "So tell me, why'd you do it?"
Dolohov's smug expression betrayed even his interest in the answer, and Harry was not about to let the Death Eaters distraction go to waste.
Keep them talking...Keep them distracted...
His hands began roaming across the floor behind him, feeling for another sharp sliver of glass.
"Well you know Harry, goblins, they're nasty business." Ludo said, fidgeting. "You know how they are if they're after ya and..."
Harry did his best to glare, feigning interest as Ludo's brow creased curiously.
"Come to think of it you probably don't Harry. But it's not fun business, goblin debt collectors that is. And since the Ministry wasn't about to increase my salary these boys said they'd be glad to help me out of my jam..."
"That you got yourself into!" Neville shouted furiously from across the room.
Bagman eyed Neville warily. "I can see where you'd think that but..."
"BUT WHAT!?" Neville roared.
Luna inconspicuously sent a broken bottle piece sliding his way, his fingers coiling around it like a snitch.
"But these Death Eaters, they're not so bad."
Harry very nearly dropped the shard, his eyes bulging out.
"Not so bad?" He repeated gruffly.
Bagman nodded vigorously. "No! Not at all Harry! In fact their rather..."
"Tell that..." He hissed lowly. "To my mum and dad. Tell that to Sirius. Tell that to Ron!"
An odd expression crossed Bagman's face. "Now Harry really...."
Harry's lips parted, accusation dripping as thick as the blood from his coiled fists, only the sound never came.
The soft sound, and flicker of movement upon the floor, drew the breath straight from his lips.
"Kaylens..." He breathed softly. He had nearly forgotten...
"Ah another one to join the fray?" Dolohov called cheerfully, sauntering over to where she lay, partially concealed by an overturned table.
The Death Eater reached her, roughly dragging her squirming form up.
"Can't leave you free to roam around now can we?" He hissed, drawing unnaturally close to her.
Harry's stomach lurched wretchedly as Dolohov's lips grazed her blood stained cheek.
"After all, fiery tempers like you..."
"Get. Your Hands. Off. Her." Harry spat dangerously, drawing Dolohov's attention to him. Anything to get him away from her... She looked ready to collapse...
The Death Eater regarded him coldly. "Or you'll do what exactly?"
"You don't want to know." He hissed lowly, ceasing the sawing movement upon his bindings. He couldn't afford to let Dolohov see....
"Oh but I do!" He said menacingly, a cruel smile lighting his dead eyes. "I'd very much like to know what Precious Potter thinks he could do to me."
His eyes narrowed, a cruel smile of his own crossing his features.
"I could show you why Voldemort is so afraid of me." He whispered threateningly.
The cords winding around Kaylens' wrists snapped tight, Dolohov's tense grip betraying his agitation.
Harry went on, the room swaying unnaturally as he spoke with malicious measure. "Or you could do yourself a favor Dolohov, and leave. Leave before you make me really angry."
Dolohov shifted uncomfortably, mirroring Bagman's movements. He took the opportunity to slowly slice at his bindings yet again.
The glass, slick with his own blood, nearly fell from his grip. Thankfully the error was lost upon the Death Eater, for Dolohov had chosen that moment to turn Kaylens around, hissing something into her tangled tresses furiously.
His wrist rung with the pain, brought about by another slip of the glass, as Kaylens body was tossed besides him.
His sawing movements halted, his eyes drawn to where she lay, panting faintly besides him.
"There... " Dolohov sneered. "Enjoy your mudblood friends Precious Potter. Once our Lord gets here we'll see how brave you really are."
He swallowed hard, watching Kaylens' eyes flicker open. He wanted to say something, anything...
He had failed her...
Hermione's soul wrenching tones brought a grimace of fear to both their features.
"Brave?" Hermione's weak voice chided from where she sat, propped against the wall. "You ask him about bravery? He's sixteen, not even a fully qualified wizard, yet you fear him so much as to disarm him and bind him."
She spat all of this into Dolohov's approaching face, just before his hand reared back, slapping her roughly to the floor.
She let out not a cry, peering upwards through her narrowed, swelling eyes, just in time to see a dark boot rearing back.
Dolohov's foot froze mid-kick, hate-filled eyes flying towards Neville's pudgy face.
"You don't want to do that."
Dolohov's thick eyebrows disappeared beneath his mangy hair. "You presume to order me around boy?"
Neville shrugged casually. "You can contaminate yourself if you want." He sounded uncharacteristically Slytherin. "I didn't realize dirty blood suited a Death Eater."
Dolohov laughed roughly, buying Harry more time.
Neville you're a saint...
A bead of salty sweat broke free from his forehead, rolling into his mouth. Setting his jaw he worked, the glass shard digging into his thick bindings.
The shard slid so low, so fast, he nearly cut too deep, the breath of pain catching fast in his throat.
The bindings were looser.
Twisting his hands testingly, he found with the first fiber's severing had come a greater range of movement.
Eyes locked onto Dolohov's fist, slamming into Neville's jaw, he twisted his wrists, ignoring the burning sensation of dried wounds ripping open. Warm, thick life blood welled from these spots, his scabbed over fingers feeling in his cloak...
They had taken his wand, but Rosmereta's... The waitress'...
Polished mahogany brushed beneath his rough skin, Kaylens' luminous eyes meeting his own, comprehension shining within their fiery depths...
He could reach the sequestered wands.
He was armed.
"Pumpkin...Honey mummy needs you to do mummy a favor. Can you do that honey?"
She whimpered, her face buried in her father's rain soaked suit. She wanted to look away, but she couldn't. The cold feeling was there. She could hear her mum, she wanted to see her, to hug her, but she was too scared to look away from the safety of her father's arms.
"Do you miss your mummy little girl? Would you like to see her?"
Emily squeezed her eyes harder, willing the voice away. "It's not mummy..." She whispered. "I can't see mummy..."
Ah, ah, ah, ah... Little darling your mummy is busy now. Can't you see that?"
She shook her head frantically, squeezing her dad's neck. "No... No...."
"Open your eyes you little bitch!"
The cruel lady's dark eyes danced in her mind. She didn't want to see the lady again. She didn't want to.
"Daddy..." She whimpered frightfully.
"No not daddy. Mummy! You wanted to see her little brat, so here, LOOK!"
Daddy would open his eyes... He would. He wasn't afraid of anything. Maybe if she opened her eyes the lady would go away again.
Emily swallowed, counting hard to ten.
Emily's watery eyes opened, a dark suit coat staring back.
Mummy needed up. She needed air. The mean man was there again, shoving her face into the puddle. Her mummy didn't like water.
Emily cried out, screeching, shaking her head back and forth, throwing the images away. She wanted them to go. Her damp, rain-soaked braids flung into her father's face as she shook, but she did not notice.
"Kenneth take Emily and go."
"You can't see them Kenneth, but they're there."
"No..." Her own whimpers rang in her ears, her icy hands shaking her mum. Whey wasn't mummy waking? She had to... "No..."
"Tonksie!" Had she shouted? Could the nice lady hear her?
"Kenneth get to the car. Drive away."
"Tonks I can't leave..."
"I'll be fine. Just go. NOW!"
Emily's reeling world reeled more, for her father had taken off at fast sprint, splashing water over her legs.
In the dim background, somewhere beyond her mother's screams, she could hear the nice lady shouting something.
Her world dimmed away as a silvery dog ran past.
Mummy always liked dogs...
Releasing the wand for what he promised would be only moments, he continued sawing at his bindings, slowly, rhythmically, trying to gain precious centimeters of mobility...
He was armed, and the realization had numbed him, his next move horribly elusive.
With the rhythmic sawing of the shard, his mind fell curiously blank for the first time in what felt millennia.
His gaze fell upon her as she moved, shoving herself up from where she lay on the floor, arms shaking fiercely, be it from shock or the pain he knew she daily bore, he did not know.
"Kaylens." He whispered softly, grasping for something, anything familiar in the horror that was his life.
She fell into place besides him, so close, her bloodied sleeve nearly brushing against his skin. She was blocking Dolohov's view of what he was doing, he knew it without even asking, for her eyes swept the room as those of the hunted would.
She was being as cautious as him, despite the slight sway to her stature.
Another thread of the rope broke free, it's release masked by her sudden, purposeful coughing.
Her head fell forward, her coughs lingering long enough to seem genuine, and her golden, tangled locks came cascading down, falling over her eyes, veiling her expression from all but him. To his eyes each shimmering strand, glinting in the dull afternoon glow, as well as her watery orbs, remained visible, as well as her bound wrists, white and torn from where she had frantically pulled, struggling for release in Dolohov's arms.
The bastard would never again lay a finger upon her.
He would never again lay a finger upon anyone.
Harry Potter had a few dark spells he was quite eager to try out.
"How much longer do you think it'll be till he finishes questioning the village Antonin?"
Dolohov sneered. "Ludovic you are trying my patience as much as the half-blood and these..." The dark gaze of the man scanned the room, taking in the few conscious students and the two patrons bound and lined against the walls. "These spares."
"But what if the ministry...."
Dolohov kicked the floor, sending shattered glass skittering across Dean's fallen form. "We will be here and gone before those fools catch wind of this. Besides, these things are delicate matters..."
Questioning? His ears listened, silently taking it all in. Besides him Kalliandra appeared to be doing the same, while Luna shifted the glass shards on the floor around with her feet.
Bagman seemed besides himself with questions. Harry mentally egged him on to be loose lipped.
"Perhaps we could stun them all and take them back ourselves?"
Dolohov scowled in his direction. "He will not be needing all of them. And you would do well to keep your mouth shut from now on or I will shut it for you."
The discussion ended.
It was then that he heard it.
Only he had heard her whispered accusation, for it could be nothing else. The sheer revulsion in that one, whispered word left nothing to question.
Her eyes had moved from Dolohov, drifting into the background beyond, liquid fire boiling beyond their depths. Lifting his own he followed her gaze to where Ludo Bagman stood, pouring himself another fidgety drink.
He turned his confusion upon her, noticing her chest's rhythmic rising as her breaths came quicker, deeper, faster...
Golden eyes flickered shut, a pained expression falling across her.
"How sorry were you?" She breathed to herself, only barely, for the hatred saturating her soft tones was not lost upon him.
It was chilling.
His own boiling blood froze as he studied her, taking advantage of the lull in activities.
"Kaylens." He whispered, almost pleadingly.
Her hateful gaze burned right through him, straight to Bagman.
Her eyes fell shut, her fists opening and closing on thin air. "You're bleeding Potter, are you alright?" She whispered shakily.
Gently brushing his arm against her own, he waited for some sign that she was alright.
Minutes passed, before delicate eyelids flickered open, her eyes alight with an aberrant glow.
"Good." She murmured. "Because I can only give you a moment."
His mouth flapped wordlessly, shocked at the transformation before him.
Where his skin lightly touched her own, an unnatural tingling had begun.
The energy reverberating from him drew her nearer, an eternity passing before she was able to forcibly draw away.
His confusion radiated in startling quantities, but he would understand soon enough.
They would all understand...
She would not stray near him again, for her world was moving unnaturally slow, as if the events occurring around her were illusory, fleeting images from horrible dreams that would surely vanish with a waft of merciful consciousness.
Only no such merciful breeze came.
Her bound hands rose from her lap, tracing the tender line of her jaw, feeling her cooling skin. Somewhere, amidst the fighting, she had fallen, shoved away by Dean. The dried smear of blood along her cheek gave evidence to that.
She could feel the heat radiating from Dean's limp form.
He was alive...
The small girl's fingers had curled around fallen chunks of her bloodied, uprooted hair, as if the resolute Gryffindor had wanted something to hold onto, something solid and tangible to prove the afflictions had been real.
Her eyes fell willfully shut once more, immersing herself in the peaceful oblivion of darkness, where no demons save her own reigned.
The memories of a resurrected night, long due revenge, beckoned.
A limp hand lay splayed across the front corridor...Blood trickling onto the wooden porch boards...
"God forgive me..." She breathed, the palpable chill filling her lungs.
She had made her decision.
The chilling rain pelted down, something dark mixing with the muddy water licking at her nose...
The tingling began softly, like a light feather playing across her skin, traversing it's way upwards, inwards...
It was their blood swirling within the puddle....Sean's blank eyes staring back...
It was rolling in discrete waves, operating by it's own indiscernible rules, pulsating from the living, evaporating from the dead.
A boyish face appeared above her, sympathy in his oceanic eyes. "I'm awfully sorry about this kid..."
His voice had echoed through that night, and again this day.
He had stood idly by once, and was again.
She squeezed her eyes shut ever tighter, involuntarily shudders traveling through her, the heady pressure in the very air building, pulsating in uncontrolled waves outwards.
The world was taking on a hotter quality, every nerve burning with fiery intensity as she began reaching, feeling...
The acrid presence of Ludovic Bagman filled her, and she began drawing.
Her intent was to kill.
A/N: Please forgive the author's note, but I believe a proper thank you is in order.
Thank you for making this story the Number One Favorite Story on the site, for making me the Number One Favorite Author on the site, for making this the 7th most read story in the site's history when it has been out for less than a year, and for making this the story with the Most Reviews Ever.
I honestly can't express how shocked I was to see that. I truly feel that I do not deserve such an honor, because having read many of the other stories on this site, I feel that my writing pales in comparison to the wealth of talent displayed by others such as njill22, Edward Ollivander, The Dark Lord Nedved, KawaiiAce2003, IchigoPan, Violet Gryfindor, Timeturner, BitterEpiphany, Ginny Weasely, Arios, Cocoapuffshooter, Winky, and too many others to name.
I have the best readers in the world. I truly do.
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