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    You know your life ain’t normal when you’re stalking a fellow student.

    At least I was being sneaky about it. I didn’t know her timetable, or where she liked to hang out, or who her friends were, or anything useful at all, really. Yet.

    All I knew was that a dead person had been following her around for the last three days.

    “Ben,” I began, giving him the chance to finish chewing his mouthful before launching into my investigation. It was lunchtime in the Great Hall, and since I was sitting at the Gryffindor table for a change, I was going to take full advantage of that.

    One of the great things about Ben was that he knew everyone. And by everyone, I meant everyone. I may know all the members of my House, the professors, and all the ghosts, but Ben knew the members of all the Houses, each professor’s favourite colour, and how every ghost had died. His knowledge of the population of Hogwarts was scary. It must come from actually enjoying talking to people.

    “Yes?” he asked, his eyes cautious.

    “You see that Ravenclaw girl over there?” I asked, gesturing as subtly as possible with my fork.

    “I see many Ravenclaw girls over there, since you’ve just pointed to the Ravenclaw table.”

    I sighed. So he was going to be difficult about this. “She’s sitting four seats down from Scorpius, and down being in the direction away from the teachers’ table. She’s facing us, has black hair, and looks like she’s spent the last ten minutes crying in the second-floor girls’ bathroom.” I knew this to be a fact – I’d just followed her from there.

    Ben shot me an alarmed look. “That was… rather more specific.”


    “Well what?” he shovelled a large chunk of lasagne into his mouth, probably to avoid this conversation. Ben always got a little skittish when I started interrogating him about other students. The problem was, I didn’t know anyone else who had such a profound knowledge of our fellow peers as Ben.

    I really should start thinking about making a spy network, or something. It could come in handy, and not just because of the ghost thing.

    “Who is she?” I asked impatiently, waving my fork a bit for emphasis. Potter gave me a you’re-crazy-please-stop-waving-that-fork-around look from across the table. As usual, I ignored him.

    Ben chewed and swallowed before replying. It was so nice when people came housetrained. “Alexia Duong,” he finally said.

    I nodded, absently stabbing my own lasagne with my fork. The cheesy layer slid sideways and the meat sauce oozed out. I’d never quite learnt not to play with my food.

    Ben sighed, finally accepting defeat and telling me what I wanted to know. “She’s in sixth year –” I knew that.

    “– Did well in her OWLs –” I knew that also. Despite some of the kooky characters that called Ravenclaw House their own, no one did any less than “well” in OWLs. I knew that there were kids who slacked off in class, or those who were so brilliant that their brains just didn’t allow them to focus on such mundane things as schoolwork, but somehow, they all did well in OWLs and NEWTs. I had a feeling that there was some sort of support system set up within the House, to ensure that these kids passed with respectable grades. I was yet to learn whether this was inspired by genuine care for the members of their House, or a compulsion to maintain their better-than-thou façade.

    “– And her boyfriend died in some sort of accident over the summer.” Aha! This must be the identity of my ghost! It also explained all the crying.

    “Do you know what happened?” I asked, now stabbing my mangled lasagne with more vigour in my enthusiasm. Helping ghosts to move on could be a long and tedious process, so I’d learnt that it was best to go into these situations armed with as much intel as possible. The more I knew, the likelier it was that I’d be able to pre-empt their reactions.

    Ben shrugged, reaching across the table for the apple pie, his favourite dessert. “Not really. I know that he was a muggle, though.”

    I frowned. Whilst it was not impossible for muggle ghosts to enter Hogwarts, it was unusual. The bonds that had this bloke tethered to this plane must be strong indeed. I’d have my work cut out, then.

    I couldn’t wait. I liked to pretend to myself that I hated my gift, but I couldn’t deny that it was a part of me. Helping these people move on was almost a compulsion, if only so that they’d leave me alone.

    And helping Alexia and her dead boyfriend also had the added bonus of distracting me from a certain crack in the wall in a certain Restricted Section of a certain library.

    “Rose might know more, of course,” Ben continued, staring at his apple pie as if he hadn’t eaten in ten years, rather than just ten seconds.

    “That’s an excellent point,” I said, letting my fork clatter to my plate. “I’ll go ask her right now!”

    Ben’s hand shot out to grab my wrist as I went to stand up, causing me to bounce painfully on the bones in my butt.

    “You’re not going anywhere,” he said, steel creeping into his voice, his beloved apple pie momentarily forgotten.

    “Why not? I have to go speak with Rose!” I cried. I was a woman on a mission. There were undead lives at stake!

    “Because you promised to eat lunch at the Gryffindor table this week,” Ben replied mildly. His grip on my wrist had not loosened though. I gave it an experimental twist and his grip tightened. No escaping using superior physical strength, then.

    “I’ll be right back,” I cajoled. “I just need to ask her about Alexia.”

    “No, you don’t. You need to eat lunch. I’ve hardly seen you over the last couple of weeks.”

    “What does that have to do with eating lunch? And Alexia?” I asked, bewildered.

    Ben’s eyes narrowed in annoyance, but he ignored my question. “Where are you, these days?”

    “In the library, studying. You know this, since we share the same table three times a week.”

    “You shouldn’t be spending so much time alone,” he continued, finally letting go of my wrist and turning back to his apple pie. He gazed at it lovingly for a moment before digging in. “It’s not healthy.”

    “Oh, she isn’t alone,” Potter piped in. For several blissful moments, I’d forgotten that he was sitting opposite to us, probably hearing every single word of our conversation. Some people had no manners at all, eavesdropping like that.

    “Really?” Ben asked with interest. “Has our darling Ellie made new friends?”

    Potter gave an evil grin. I stared at him with a growing sense of dread. Where was he going with this? “She’s not studying either.”

    I inhaled in outrage. “Of course I’m studying! I’m taking ten NEWTs! All I do is study!” That, and stalk unsuspecting sixth-year Ravenclaws with undead stalkers of their own.

    “What’s she doing in the library, then?” Ben asked, leaning forward in eagerness, completely ignoring me. This is why he knows so much about other people; it’s his weakness for gossip.

    Potter leant forward, too. I’d say he was ignoring me as well, if not for the twinkle of Satan in his green eyes. “Anderson has a secret boyfriend.”

    I felt like stabbing the smug look off his face with my fork.

    “I do not!” I cried indignantly.

    Typically, I was ignored. “Really? Who’s the lucky bloke?” Ben asked. He gave me a sidelong look. “Anyone we know, Ellie?” he asked slyly. He and Potter were now wearing identical evil grins.

    “You know full well that I don’t have a boyfriend, secret or otherwise,” I huffed, folding my arms across my chest.

    “Then why didn’t you tell me who you were talking to last week in the Restricted Section?” Potter asked, his smug look becoming… smuggier.

    “For the love of Galileo! Will you let that go?” I cried, flinging my hands in the air. Only Potter could make me so dramatic during lunch – or at any time, for that matter.

    “Is his name Galileo, then?” Ben asked, laughter sparkling in his eyes.

    “And are you two already in love?” Potter chortled.

    I growled in frustration, and hunched down in my seat, stabbing my cold lasagne once more. There was a small part of me that felt bad for the lasagne. It wasn’t its fault that I was surrounded by such douchebags. “This is why I don’t sit at the Gryffindor table,” I muttered.

    Ben patted my arm consolingly. “It’s alright, Ellie. If you don’t want to tell us about your secret boyfriend right now, you don’t have to. I understand the excitement of clandestine love. My age brings great wisdom in such matters.”

    “Ben, you still laugh at fart jokes,” I snapped.

    “Farts are funny, okay?” he defended.

    I sighed. It seemed as if my plans to find out more about Alexia Duong and her grief-ridden summer were stymied by none other than Albus Severus Potter.

    But only momentarily, I vowed. Only momentarily.

    That night, I lay in bed thinking. I hadn’t got a chance to speak with Rose about Alexia throughout the rest of the day, although some accidental stalking had garnered a little more information. Listening in on a conversation in the second floor girls’ bathroom, I’d learnt that her boyfriend’s name was Charles-but-everyone-calls-me-Chuck, he had been off to the local university in the autumn, and that he’d died in a car accident. Not bad for a few extra minutes spent in a toilet cubicle, although I didn’t really like to pretend to do the number two in public. It was all for a good cause, though.

    However, it wasn’t thoughts of Alexia that kept me awake – no, it was thoughts of the same thing that had kept me awake for the past week. I couldn’t afford another night of fitful sleep because of that cursed gap in the Restricted Section! The other morning I’d woken up from a dream about it and Amy had asked me if I’d had a nightmare, I’d been so worked up. Little could I tell her that a bloody gap in a wall had me gasping awake in a cold sweat.

    Folks, if anyone gifts you an intense curiosity for Christmas, politely return the gift and tell them that unless it came with an accompanying promise of a Nobel Prize or a declaration of world peace, they didn’t want anything to do with it. Curiosity was not a gift. It ate you up from the inside, leaving you with an unhealthy obsession for perfectly ordinary occurrences.

    I’d tried progressive muscle relaxation to help my mind, body and soul calm down, but as usual, any meditative exercise led to hyperactivity in my frontal lobe. If I’d been working on a cure for something like douchebaggery, I’d be so grateful for this wonderful ability to focus. Since all I wanted to focus on was eight solid hours of uninterrupted sleep, I wanted to take hold of my newfound focus and shove it up –

    A slight snore from across the room broke my concentration. I sighed gustily and pushed my covers away. It was time to do something about this life-debilitating obsession. I slipped into a sports bra and my red Converse All Stars and grabbed my favourite black zip-up hoodie. I forewent warmer lower body coverings and decided that my satin Batman boxers would have to suffice – I’d probably wake everyone up if I started rummaging for my running skins. I might not be completely warm, but at least I was adequately dressed that if the occasion called for it, I could run away from any authority figures that may choose to pursue me.

    I tiptoed out of the dorm, not quite sure why I bothered with the stealth. We may not all be the best of friends (except for Amy, who was friends with everyone) but I knew that these four girls could sleep through a World War II air raid.

    A quick glance across the Common Room assured me that it was empty – no one was around to notice my blatant disregard for curfew. A quick pat of my waistband assured me that my wand was still safely tucked under the combined elastic power of my boxers and undies, and I was set to take on whatever Hogwarts at night had to throw at me.

    Sneaking into the library was surprisingly easy – there weren’t actually any doors that barred entry into the place, and nor was there any need for security spells. I guess the faculty assumed that no one would voluntarily sneak into a place conventionally associated with gross things like learning and knowledge in the middle of the night. Oh, how little they knew about teenagers – we were rebellious by design, laughing in the face of convention and societal norms.

    That’s what I liked to tell myself anyway.

    My shoes were soundless across the wooden floor. Aside from their loud colour, these babies were made for stealth missions. A bubble of giddiness rose up my chest as I stepped over the chain that barred the entrance to the Restricted Section. I wondered if James Bond felt like this in the early days of his career, before he got caught up in the tangled web of global espionage and randomly making love to exotic women.

    The Restricted Section was spookier without the torches. I pulled out my wand, the glowing tip casting enough light to shroud the stacks of books in a giant cloak of shadows. Images of Dementors and Nazgul sprang to mind.

    I took a deep, fortifying breath and made my way as confidently as I could to the end of the long room. No bookshelf was going to freak me out, no matter how much it wanted to kill me for the One Ring or my immortal soul.

    The gap was still there, right between the stone wall and wooden shelf. My shoulders drooped in disappointment. It was so innocuous in appearance. How could a simple discrepancy between wood and stone cause me such strife? Once I’d gotten to the bottom of this mystery, I swore I was going to find myself the recipe for eternally dreamless sleep. Fuck the damage that would probably cause to my higher order cognitive skills – my frontal lobe needed to take a chill pill anyway.

    I shone the light from my wand at the gap, squinting to see if that revealed the gap’s nefarious secrets.

    No luck.

    I took a step back and sighed. What on Gaia could that gap mean? It was possible that when the bookshelves were installed, the carpenter was simply too lazy to do a good job. However, considering the calibre of work to have come out of the Dark Ages (I mean, Hogwarts’ furniture had survived the use and abuse of a millennium’s worth of juvenile human beings) it didn’t seem likely.

    I sat down on the cold stone floor with my legs crossed and stared at the anonymous row of books in front of me. As time slowly ticked away, my thoughts drifted toward all the adventure books I’d read over the years. If I were the hero in an adventure novel, what would an innocent gap in the wall mean?

    A secret passage.

    I shook my head at the ludicrousness of that possibility even as I reached for the books along the bottom shelf. I called myself ten different kinds of crazy as I removed them all and cast my light over the solid wooden backboard.

    The backboard was a little dusty and free of any markings such as PRESS HERE FOR ENTRANCE TO SECRET PASSAGE.

    Well, I hadn’t thought that would be the markings – it would make the secrecy of the passage a little too obvious.

    I ran my hands over the seams of the backboard and adjoining shelves.

    They were as solid as the Man of Steel’s totally ripped abs.

    I huffed in disappoint. Those Dark Age carpenters really should be applauded for such good work, but really, was it too much to ask for a secret passage hidden behind a bookshelf in the restricted part of a library?

    I sighed. I guess the whole secret passage idea was a bust.

    I looked up at the bookshelf, towering over me. The feeble light of my wand cast the upper shelves into a black hole of darkness, but I knew how many more shelves there were.

    Six more shelves.

    Six more possibilities for hidden entrances to secret passageways.

    Six more chances at being the hero of a best-selling adventure novel.

    I got to work.
    Fifteen minutes later, I found myself facing the backboard of the final shelf. I was sweaty, and there was ancient dust up my nose. I did not feel at all cheery about the fact that I was breathing centuries-old dead skin cells. This place really needed a good dusting. Possibly a vacuum as well.

    This was it. This was my last chance at eternal glory as the hero of my novel. I took a deep breath and felt around the edges of the backboard, pinning all my hopes and dreams on a shoddy job in Dark-Age carpentry.

    My breath caught.

    I’d found a loose edge.

    Trying to tamp down my excitement, I dug my fingernails under the edge and tugged gently.

    The plank didn’t budge.

    I tugged a little harder.

    Still nothing.

    I stood on tiptoe on the rickety chair, canted forward and leant most of my weight on the edge of the shelf right under my boobs, and yanked.

    The board came free with an obscenely loud grating noise.

    Before I could topple off my chair, I grabbed the edge of the shelf with one hand, and braced the elbow still holding the backboard against a wooden divider with the other. I took a few moments to congratulate myself on the road to becoming the next Lara Croft.

    First, finding secret passages behind gaps in walls. Next – robbing the Valley of Kings.

    I could just imagine the busty up-and-coming actress who would portray me in the book-to-movie adaptation.

    Placing the backboard flat on top of the bare shelf, I regarded the exposed stone wall. It was the same stone as the rest of Hogwarts – boring old forged-in-the-fires-of-volcanoes basalt. Not even remotely exciting.

    Adventuring wasn’t nearly as thrilling as it was made out to be.

    I gazed at the rock, looking for any anomalies. My feeble wand light didn’t reveal anything at first glance. The stupid wall was as bare and featureless as walls could get, except for –

    A sweep of my wand caught a glint of something in the bottom left-hand corner. I brought the wand closer and squinted once again, this time because the light was bad, and not because I expected to gain any insight from the exercise of facial muscles.

    Surprisingly, it actually helped me focus the image: a rather crude interpretation of the Hogwarts crest was carved into the otherwise-blank wall.

    Holy Sense and Sensibility, this was it. This was the key to the entrance to the secret passage I’d been fantasising about. This was the beginning of my book-to-movie adaptation.

    Slowly, reverently, I reached out my fingers and gently brushed the inscription.

    Nothing happened.

    Perhaps it needed a firmer touch.

    I pressed harder.

    Neither a glimmer, nor a creak of shifting stone and wood.

    I punched the wall.

    All I got was jarred bones and bruised knuckles.

    Well, wasn’t that just fan-flipping-tastic? I go to all this effort, just to literally hit a stone wall.

    This kind of stuff never happened in the movies, along with toilet breaks and lower back pain.

    Real life was so unfair.

    I poked my wand at the carving in frustration.

    “Stupid –” poke.

    “Little –” poke.

    “Piece of –” poke.

    The sound of grinding rock had me pinwheeling on my teetering chair.

    I finally righted myself and gazed at the void in front of me.



    I stepped cautiously off my chair, and stared at the darkness that greeted me. Where a bookshelf used to be, was now a gaping hole, the bookshelf in question having slipped backward and behind its neighbour. The goddamn gap in the wall was probably because one of the magic rollers had become misaligned.

    I held my wand aloft and squinted some more, since it had been so successful last time.

    Vague, blocky shapes came into focus.

    At least they weren’t creatures that roamed the dark places in the world – they were never the shape of Platonic solids.

    I took a step into the darkness, my wand still held aloft. As my eyes adjusted to the dim glow, the vague shapes began to look more and more like…


    I had to roll my eyes at my fortune. Typical. It would have been far too normal for me to find a secret passageway. No, I just had to go and find a secret storeroom full of secret crates. I crouched down next to one which was missing its lid, still hoping to find something of interest. Perhaps I’d just skipped the secret passage stage, and jumped straight to the secret treasure.

    I held my breath in anticipation. What might I discover? Lost scrolls from the Library of Alexandria? Merlin’s secret diary? Excalibur?

    I felt like crying at what greeted me: more books. For possibly the first time in my life, I was actually disappointed at the sight of flattened woodchips covered in ink and bound in the hide of a dead animal.

    I didn’t know why I was so surprised at finding books in a storeroom hidden in a fucking library.

    I stood up and walked further into the small room, my adventurous spirit most definitely crushed. I’d never see myself as a busty action hero on the silver screen now. I saw even more crates haphazardly stacked against the walls. Closer to the back were dusty suits of armour, the joints rusted at rather dejected angles. They looked almost as depressed as I felt.

    A full circuit of the storeroom revealed only one thing of interest: right on the back wall hung a sheet. Age had not been kind to it. It was yellow, and water stained, and looked as if someone had forgotten to renew the mothball charm on it three centuries ago.

    In spite its rather uninspiring appearance, I was still strangely drawn to the ratty old cloth. And despite my failures in adventuring so far, I still reached out and tugged at it.

    The cloth came away to give me only a brief glimpse of what I guessed to be an old oil painting, before it slid down the wall.

    I watched with a slack jaw as it hit the flagstone floor and balanced for half a moment along its gilt frame edge, before beginning its slow topple toward me.

    I yelped and leaped away just in time as it hit the floor with a dull thud, the thick layer of dust suppressing the sound.

    I stared with wide eyes and still slack jaw at the painting now at my feet, the old canvas sheet that had covered it still clasped in my hand.

    Holy Shakespeare, I’d just ruined a probably priceless old painting. Whoever resided in it was going to kill me if that fall hadn’t knocked them unconscious. Did portraits even get knocked unconscious?

    I glanced up at the wall where the painting had hung probably for centuries, hoping to find a hook or something so that I could return it to its rightful place before anyone in it woke up and screamed the whole castle down around me.

    Instead of finding a hook like I expected, I was floored by the sight that greeted me for the second time in the past minute.

    There, etched in stone, was another Hogwarts crest.

    Whoever had done these carvings really needed to find some new inspiration, although I was impressed to note that their skills had definitely improved. The crest was much larger than the one in the library, and etched in minute detail. I could actually see the scales on the snake, and the whiskers on the badger. The eagle’s talons were wicked sharp, as were the canines of the snarling lion. The carver must have practised a lot since their shitty attempt on the bookshelf wall.

    The shifting light and shadow in the room made the animals appear to almost move. They were all so real, so very there, it would have been a little scary if it weren’t so mesmerising. I’d only ever seen something like this etching in a documentary on the world’s oldest cave paintings, hidden up in the mountains of France. There was something about the way the animals were drawn that evoked the feelings that often accompanied being confronted with something so ancient and divine: awe.

    Once again, without thinking, I reached out to trace them with a reverent finger. I wondered if the lion would chomp down its jaw on it when I touched it.

    I caressed its mane, feeling the uniform ridges and valleys that defined its magnificent hair amongst the sandpapery surface of the stone.

    The lion blinked.

    I gasped and leaped back in shock.

    The lion blinked again.

    I clamped my hand over my mouth to contain my scream.

    One would think that I’d be used to things moving that weren’t supposed to. I walked past portraits that gossiped over high tea without batting an eyelid. I glanced over yawning photographs of disgraced Ministry officials in The Prophet without a conscious thought. I sang along with suits of armour that belted out yuletide cheer during Christmas.

    But never did I expect stone carvings to move.

    I watched as the lion dropped to all fours and stretched, its front paws resting before its quivering whiskers, the tip of its tail swishing in the air behind it.

    Then it stalked across its panel and into the snake’s. The lion watched the still-unmoving snake, before swiping its muzzle with his giant lion paw. The snake immediately came to life, rearing back in surprise, and sticking out its tongue, hissing silently.

    “Holy mother of witchcraft and wizardry,” I breathed. This was unbelievable. The snake had now twined itself around the bottom of its panel and was now – oh my Curie was it going to attack the eagle?

    The eagle didn’t seem as surprised as I was, because a fraction of a second before the snake struck, it gave a mighty flap of its wings and head-butted the snake right in its chin. The snake moved its head back into its own panel a little dazedly.

    The apparent gust of air created by the eagle had finally awoken the badger. Its sensitive whiskers quivered, as if inquiring “Why all the violent awakenings, homies?”

    The poor snake, which’d so far had a rough time of it, extended itself toward the badger’s sniffing nose.

    I swear on my collection of vintage copies of The Quibbler, I’m not making the next part up. The badger actually booped the snake on its head with its nose.

    Like, actually. An actual boop. One could not make this kind of shit up.

    It had to be the cutest weird thing I had ever seen, a stone badger booping a stone snake.

    Now that all the animals were awake, and the snake was somewhat mollified, it was time for the next weird thing: the crest began to glow.

    And I don’t mean like, soft, crystal nightlight glow. I mean harsh, almost-blinding, creatures of deep ocean trenches that don’t have any eyes but creepy bioluminescence glow.

    I screeched and scrambled back, almost tripping over the sheet now clutched tightly in my sweaty palm.

    As if that wasn’t enough, the wall decided that it would just disappear.

    Like, what even? After putting all that effort into moving carvings and a lightshow that resembled the predatory lure of a deep sea angler fish, why would the bloody wall disappear?

    It made even less sense than what had already happened so far that night.

    But things were about to get a whole lot weirder.
    The now giant hole in the wall revealed the real secret behind the gap between stone and wood in the library.

    I was surprised that I could see quite clearly inside this particular room. It helped an awful lot that there was a goddamn eternal flame burning in the centre of it.

    I couldn’t have made something like this up even if I’d tried. I stepped into the warmly illuminated room. It was square, about fifteen feet across. The walls were a buttery limestone, richly illuminated by the merry blue-orange flames. What kind of fuel burnt blue and orange at the same time? Perhaps there were traces of calcium and copper chloride in it.

    Or perhaps it was just magic.

    I was sure there was a metaphor for life in there somewhere.

    The flames danced away in a large metallic shallow dish atop a matching metal pedestal. The entire contraption resembled a very elaborate bird bath.

    Behind the bird bath/fire-holder stood four statues that looked to be arranged in a trapezium around the flame. As I came closer to the hooded figures, I realised that a semicircular configuration was probably the more likely intention. The fire flickered over their cool surfaces; the blue causing the crystallised carbonate minerals to sparkle, and the orange caught the veins of impurities.

    The overall effect of marble and fire was ethereal yet distant.

    Still, somehow, these figures seemed familiar, in all their hooded anonymity.

    A distant crash brought me rushing back to reality.

    The feeling of familiarity disappeared. The statues began to look more sinister. The greyish darkness behind them deepened. The hair on the back of my neck rose in alarm.

    There was something about this place that was no longer welcoming. The walls seemed to close in. The flame swayed erratically in a breeze that only it felt. The very air practically screamed INTRUDER ALERT! ANNIHILATE ON SIGHT!

    I abruptly turned on my heel and walked out of there with alacrity. I didn’t stop walking until I’d reached the safety of my four-poster bed.

    I released a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding since I’d entered that creepy statue room. The pearl grey of false dawn filtered through the glass window beside my bed. The entire night felt more and more like a surreal dream with every deep breath I took. I focused my ragged thoughts on that clear predawn light, trying to banish that totally creeped-out-of-my-skin feeling.

    Nothing else was real except for my breath and the autumn day that was just beginning to wake up from its slumber.

    With that calming thought, I finally fell into my first deep, truly restful sleep in a week.

    AN: Hey y’all! Welcome to the long-awaited chapter 6! I’m actually quite pleased with this chapter, despite how delayed it was. Stuff happens! We almost meet a ghost other than Regulus! Ben is awesome! Albus is annoying! And we finally find out about the mystery of the gap in the wall! Yay for fulfilled foreshadowing! Tell me what you thought about this chapter – the good, the bad, and the ugly. I love hearing it all!

    Converse All Stars are owned by Converse, James Bond was created by Ian Fleming, the Nazgul and the One Ring is from The Lord of the Rings, written by JRR Tolkein, the Man of Steel is Superman and was created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, Lara Croft is from the video game series Tomb Raider, created by Toby Gard, and Sense and Sensibility was written by Jane Austen.

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