If you want to read ahead, you can check out my Patreón @
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The link is also in the synopsis.
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The Hogwarts Express chugged along the tracks, making its way through the lush and overreaching countryside. The school was over, and the student population was on the red train, going back to their home.
"The farewell party went straight down the gutter," Eddie grumbled, leaning on his train berth, his leg resting on the front corner of the opposite berth.
Marcus picked his head out of his pork pie and fixed Eddie with a disappointed gaze. "Don't be like that. Professor Snape died protecting the school from Death Eaters. We weren't going to have a farewell party either way."
"You think I don't know that. It just took a lot of time for me to get that big crate of firewhisky," Eddie huffed with crossed arms. "I had to divvy it all out and didn't get a party in return."
"You can come to my house," said Quinn. He was lying beside Marcus with his feet crossed and a book floating over his head. "I will get you good and drunk— grandfather would be more than delighted to start a young man like yourself on his journey alcohol. Though I doubt you'd be getting firewhisky from him."
"Why?"
"Let's just say he has. . . taste. In turn, you will be getting a lot of hand-crafted beverages along with an evening full of responsible drinking habits."
". . . Yeah, that sounds drab. But hey, I won't say no to some expensive stuff. Send me a date and time; I'll be there."
"You say that, but I guarantee that you will be copying him by the end of the day."
Quinn tried to imagine what fun it would be to see Eddie and George together and that too drinking. He could imagine it going in so many interesting ways. Moreover, he would even get a bonus interaction between Ms. Rosey and Eddie— that could very well be more entertaining than Eddie and George.
"You don't anything to with the Prefects?" Marcus asked Quinn. "I thought the bunch of you would be doing something like a posh lunch to mark the end."
Quinn waved his hand. "Nope, not one bit interested in that. Plus, no one was in the mood for it. It didn't help that quarter of the Prefects went home directly with their parents, so we just dropped the idea of doing something as a farewell."
It wasn't just them. The entire seventh-year was bummed as their last days in Hogwarts had taken such a tragic turn. The only positive that had come out of the mess was the postponed exams— though some complained about wanting to get it over with as soon as possible.
Eddie loudly slapped his thighs as he stood. "Well boys, I will see you. . . I don't know when."
"Going to see Tracey?" asked Quinn.
"Yeah."
Quinn grabbed the book and got up as well.
"You— Daphne?"
". . . Yes."
Eddie turned to Marcus and opened his mouth just to close it. He furrowed his brow before quirking one up. "You know. . . we never talked about you, have we? You never told us if you liked someone or who you liked. . . and somehow we never hound. . . asked you about." Eddie turned to Quinn, "That's surprising, innit, mate?"
Quinn stepped beside Eddie and faced Marcus. "It is surprising indeed. Seven years together, and never did you tell us what's your type, much less who you fancy. I think it is high time your best mates know about this sort of stuff."
Both sat down in front of Marcus in unison, leaning forward over their crossed arms.
"No, no, no, don't sit," said Marcus, gesturing them to stand up. "I fancied no one, there that's the answer, happy, now off yo go— you don't want to keep the ladies waiting."
"I don't buy that crap," Eddie shot down the answer. "I don't believe you never got interested. You must have a crush or two."
"Was it someone in DA?" asked Quinn. "Was it Susan Bones? She's pretty, and you two got along."
"Now that you say that, they did get along splendidly."
"Then there were all those meetings."
"He can't be blamed for taking a fancy."
"Maybe she did as well."
"You dog! The Minister's daughter, eh, mate. Now that's ballsy!"
"Never knew you to be so ambitious, Marcus. You know there's still time. It might be late, but you can at least communicate your feelings. You might regret it later if you keep those feelings hidden."
"Go jump her bones!"
Marcus' jaw had long slackened. "No" — he shook his head — "No" — again — "No" — and then again — "none of that. . . how did. . . from where. . . you two. . . . Out!"
"Come on, who better to tell but us," said Quinn.
"Out!"
"Look at him all shy," said Eddie.
"Sod off!"
There was a knock on the door, but before they could even turn their heads, the door slid and shuddered open. Tracey Davis stood at the door with her eyes narrowed at her boyfriend. "I have been waiting for a while, and here you are, laughing it off."
Eddie stood up and all but flew to Tracey's side. He kissed her cheek and took her hand into his. "We got busy trying to make Marcus' love life successful. Turns out that he likes Susan Bones."
"You do?!" asked Tracey, surprise replacing irritation.
"No, I don't! Don't listen to them!"
"So he says," said Quinn laughing.
Tracey's eyes turned to Quinn, and her eyes narrowed yet again. She fixed him with a glare.
Eddie noticed Tracey's change. He looked between his girlfriend and best mate and asked, "What-what? Did something happen? Something happened. What happened?"
"He cheated," said Tracey, making Quinn's heart skip a beat, "me out of money in a bet using a trick."
"So it wasn't just me. He cheated in a race against me; used some bloody magic to rush off like a horse."
"Is that so," she hummed, "sounds like him."
Quinn thinned his lips bitterly. Daphne had told Tracey as she said she would. As one would expect, Tracey wasn't happy with what she had heard and had come for Quinn with her wand in hand. The incident (fortunately unseen) was Tracey bombarding Quinn with her most offense-heavy curses, with Quinn blocking them while hearing her hurling the non-magical type curses from her mouth. After she had tired herself out, Tracey switched to yelling at him for forcing Daphne into a horrible relationship.
When he tried to give an explanation — which was difficult as Quinn didn't have a solid explanation for the situation Lust and Greed had dropped him in — and that might have shown as Tracey had huffed and sneered and walked away mid-explanation.
"It's lovely to see you as well, Tracey," said Quinn earnestly. Tracey was one of his close friends, someone he had gotten along with from the get-go, and this was the first time they had turmoil between them.
She raised her hand and threw something at him. It glinted golden as Quinn caught it out of the air.
"Let's go," she pulled Eddie along while giving Quinn one last glaring side-eye.
Quinn looked at his palm, and there sat a golden galleon.
When the door was slid close, Marcus spoke up, "Wow, she's in a bad mood. How much did you take from her. . . it must be a lot if she's still paying it now."
Quinn could only heavily sigh in response.
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- (Scene Break) -
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Quinn rubbed the galleon with his thumb. He glanced down at the face of the coin, peering near the circumference, where a string of words swam as if on a long stripe display showing stock prices. The fake galleon was used in DA to communicate the meeting details, and every member had retained the coins with them for communication.
He had one as well, but he didn't keep it in person.
He glanced up at the compartment he was asked to visit, communicated by the coin. He furrowed his brow and stepped back from the curtained-off glass-windowed wooden door to take in the full picture.
There was a focus-averting charm laid on the whole front of the compartment. The charm worked the same as the "Muggle-Repellant" charm, but for magicals— it wasn't a widely used spell as it would fail if someone was actively looking for the thing that the spell had been cast on.
The spellwork in front of him, as Quinn judged, was skillful with decent power behind it. He glanced around the train corridor— there was no one present but him— and had noticed how half of the compartments in the section were empty because of the lack of students that had boarded the train today. It was a suitable place to ward off a compartment with such spell, away from the frequent pair of eyes that would pass by.
He knocked on the door but didn't enter. A second later, the curtain parted a sliver, and green eyes peered from within. The door opened, and he was pulled in by a dainty hand.
Quinn found himself in the room with two girls he was well familiar with. He peered at Daphne and Ivy as they stared back at him, making him nervous. It felt like a long time, but it was just yesterday that he had entered into a relationship with both of them.
It wasn't nearly enough time for him to gather his thoughts.
"Hello," he said. Then proceeded to scream at himself for the slight off-tone. He pretended to clear his throat and said again, "Hello," this time normally.
Both greeted him back. Ivy greeted him with a smile and a wandering eye (which he thought was because of yesterday) while Daphne greeted him as if nothing had happened.
"So, how are you two doing? Any change of thoughts since yesterday," he said jokingly.
The joke didn't hit. Quinn knew it as it was coming out of his mouth.
Daphne's eyes sharpened, threatening to turn into a glare any second. Ivy, on the other hand, looked a bit hurt. Quinn immediately realized what had gone wrong.
"Wait-wait, I can practically see your thoughts," he said hurriedly. "I am not regretting this and have no intention of going back on what was decided yesterday." He could only blame things on Greed so much, and it was time to take responsibility.
"Then don't say things that make us think like that," said Daphne, snappily, but much less than yesterday.
Ivy nodded.
"I apologize; I wasn't thinking," he said. "But I can sense that both of you have some thoughts since yesterday."
"We have," said Ivy. "I think it would be better if we have some well-defined rules between us to ensure that this," she pointed to everyone, "doesn't collapse."
"Agreed," nodded Quinn.
"We have talked between us two what we expect from you. We will tell you those. And because it goes two ways, we want to hear what you wish from us."
That was good, Quinn thought. He could definitely work with some guidelines. He hadn't even heard their expectations, but he was already feeling good about it.
"First, and maybe the most important part rule," started Daphne. She pointed at herself and Ivy, "We aren't involved with each other. We are involved with you and you alone. As it stands now, we aren't interested in pursuing anything with the other— so don't expect us to do so or ask us to do. Ivy and I will work on our relationship— but it won't go farther than friendship— not romantically, and definitely not. . . ."
"Sexually," supplied Ivy and followed with a very blunt. "So no threesomes if you somehow had that in mind."
Daphne nodded conservatively.
"Wouldn't think of it," Quinn agreed with them without missing a beat.
"Next rule," Daphne continued. "We are fine with spending time together," she flushed a bit, "even living together when it comes to that" — Quinn held back his surprise of Daphne talking about living together; they hadn't talked about a living situation, this being the first time— "we are willing to share some trips and outings, but there must be some single dates, and during those personal one-on-one times, there must not be ANY mention of the other.
I personally want that you don't take Ivy to places that I deem special between the two of us— for example, the small handicraft muggle market that we visited before this year."
Quinn's eyes shined in recognition. It was his first time taking Daphne to the non-magical world, and instead of overwhelming her with all the glitz and glamor, he took her to a quaint street-side handicraft bazaar.
"I want the same," said Ivy; there was a competitive light in her eyes. "So, you can't take her to the Architect's Vault." Her shoulders slumped, and she mumbled, "We don't have any place else, and you're already not returning. . . ."
Quinn was quick to rescue and promised her about building places with time. He did get a look towards Daphne, but she was as serene as night.
"Now, this is the last thing we could think," continued Daphne. "It's about what and how much to share. I am open to hearing about what you did with Ivy if you're looking to share that. I might ask you about it, or you might want to share it on your own— in either case, I will leave it up to you how much you want to share and how much Ivy would be fine with me knowing."
"I don't want to hear anything you do with Daphne," said Ivy. "As long it is not something we three did together, I only want to listen to the bare minimum. If it is not something I must know, then please don't let me know about it."
Quinn again agreed. And not it was time for him to share his side of the expectations. "I only have one," he said. "I want an appropriate amount of alone time where I don't spend time with either of you. Daphne already knows it, but I need— demand— an amount of alone time alone, which borders just at the limit of what's permissible in a normal relationship. But that's not going to work if I'm going to spend time with both of you— so while I will be cutting down on my alone time, I still want a fair share of it.
So, I request that you respect my time alone."
His ask was taken in immediately.
They then continued to talk and agreed that a calendar was needed to mark the plans from all three sides. The discussion ended with defining what was to be shared outside— all three were in unison that (with the exception of Tracey) they weren't going to make the relationship public, with Daphne and Quinn still a normal couple in the eyes of the public.
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- ( Volume 8: Year Seven) - HAS ENDED -
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Quinn West - MC - Let me write that down.
Daphne Greengrass - In part of a V-relationship - Wants to move in with Quinn. . . when she graduates Hogwarts.
Ivy Potter - In part of a V-relationship - Wants to catch up with Daphne in terms of her relationship with Quinn.
Tracey Davis - Angry friend(?) - Furious well-wisher.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - I forgot about Luna. Let's just say she was hanging out with Astoria.
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If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the synopsis!
Just like always,
Review, comment, add to the library, and share this fic.
Thx
If you want to read ahead, you can check out my Patreón @
[ https://www.patreón.com/fictiononlyreader ]
The link is also in the synopsis.
.
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Dobby wrapped his fingers around Voldemort's girthy. . . .
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A man appeared out of nowhere on a moonlit lane. For a second, he stood still, his eyes roaming around the area; he stowed his wand beneath his cloak and strolled down the lane bordered on the left by wild, low-growing prickly shrubs, on the right by a high, neatly manicured hedge.
The man's long cloak around his ankle as he turned right into a wide driveway that led off the lane. The high hedge curved with them, running off into the distance beyond the pair of impressive wrought-iron gates barring the man's way. His steps didn't break: in silence, he raised his hand in a kind of salute and passed straight through, as though the dark metal were smoke.
The yew hedges muffled the sound of the man's footsteps. There was a rustle somewhere to their right: he drew his wand again, pointing it towards the source, but it proved to be nothing more than a pure-white peacock, strutting majestically along the top of the hedge.
The man thrust his wand back into his cloak, breathing out a breath as he shook his head at the presence of the peacock.
A handsome manor house grew out of the darkness at the end of the straight drive, lights glinting in the diamond-paned downstairs windows. Somewhere in the dark garden beyond the hedge, a fountain was playing. Gravel crackled beneath his feet as he sped toward the front door, which swung inward at their approach, though nobody had visibly opened it.
The hallway was large, dimly lit, and sumptuously decorated, with a magnificent carpet covering most of the stone floor. The eyes of the pale-faced portraits on the walls followed the man as he strode past. He halted at a heavy wooden door leading into the next room, hesitated for the space of a heartbeat, then turned the bronze handle.
The drawing-room was full of silent people, sitting at a long and ornate table. The room's usual furniture had been pushed carelessly up against the walls. Illumination came from a roaring fire beneath a handsome marble mantelpiece surmounted by a gilded mirror. The man lingered for a moment on the threshold.
As his eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light, he was drawn upward to the strangest feature of the scene: a person sitting near the head of the table with his arm outstretched on the table with a Dark Mark eerily glowing in a dark sludge green— the arm trembled constantly along with the rest of the person whom the arm belonged to. None of the people seated were looking at the trembling person.
"Lock," said a high, clear voice from the head of the table. "You are very nearly late."
The speaker was seated directly in front of the fireplace so that it was difficult, at first, for the new arrivals to make out more than his silhouette. As Rivers Lock drew nearer, however, the figure's face shone through the gloom, hairless, snakelike, with slits for nostrils and gleaming red eyes whose pupils were vertical. He was so pale that he seemed to emit a pearly glow.
"Beside Dolohov," said Voldemort, pointing to a place near the middle of the table's length.
Rivers took his allotted space. Most of the eyes around the table
followed him, and it was the second he took the seat that Voldemort spoke.
"So?"
"My Lord, all of our captured troops are being moved to Azkaban from St Mungos tomorrow, at nightfall."
The interest around the table sharpened palpably: Some stiffened, others fidgetted, all gazing at Rivers and Voldemort.
"Tomorrow. . . nightfall," repeated Voldemort. His red eyes fastened upon
River's dead-black ones with such intensity that some of the watchers looked away, apparently fearful that they themselves would be scorched by the ferocity of the gaze. Rivers, however, looked placidly back into Voldemort's face, not daring to move it away; after a moment or two, Voldemort's lipless mouth curved into something like a smile.
"Good. And this source of information comes—"
"— from my Novellus Accionite source in Rufus Scrimgeour's camp," said Rivers.
"Bartemius," called Voldemort to the pale young man with straw-colored hair and freckles, sitting closer to Voldemort in the upper half of the long table. "You will take some our own and free the unjustly captives from the Auror entourage— I expect that you won't fail me. . ." His red eyes glanced at the platinum-blonde-haired man who still trembled without stopping as the Dark Mark continued to glow.
Rivers' eyes turned from Voldemort to Bartemius "Barty" Crouch Junior. Rivers knew the man to be Voldemort's most rabid follower— his devotion only matched if not surpassed by the crazy witch Bellatrix Lestrange. Barty had been sent to Azkaban after his untimely reveal at Hogwarts and had been busted out by Voldemort at the same time as Rivers had been. Rivers could recall the moans and grunts of Barty that went for nearly a year before finally going silent as the Dementors had feasted on the new, fresh meal.
"Yes, My Lord," Barty bowed his chair. "I will shoot the Aurors from the ground, straight into their unmarked burial grounds, and bring your servants back home."
"See that you do."
As Barty smiled deeply in delight, Rivers turned back to Voldemort. "My Lord, I have heard another piece of information, something that DMLE and even the Minister's camp buried away from reaching the papers."
Rivers waited, but Voldemort did not speak, so he went on, "The papers wrote events of the night as the Dumbledore, his band of professors, and the Aurors," from Order of Phoenix, "responding quickly to the infiltration and containing our team— with only Severus Snape being the sole casualty—"
"Get to the point, Rivers," said Voldemort with a tinge of irritation in his eyes before he went back to the trembling man. River's following words made Voldemort look back at him.
"Dumbledore, the Hogwarts Professors, or the Aurors, it was none of among them that put a stopper to our plans," he paused, "it was the Invisible Vigilante."
If there weren't any pair of eyes on Rivers before, now he had warranted the attention of the entire room.
"I met another contact— from St Mungos— they told me that the team was being treated in an isolated ward with Aurors guarding it around the clock, which is not unusual, but only a small portion of the staff knows what's happening inside that ward— all the records are sealed. My contact is one of the people who attend to them. I was told that the Death Eaters in the ward had their arms disabled with the same magic that was used on the day of the Quidditch Finals. . . ."
A discussion broke out in the room. The Invisible Vigilante being the reason for their efforts to get rid of Dumbledore, didn't fare with the Death Eaters leaders present in the room.
Voldemort held up a large white hand, and the talks subsided at once, all eyes returning to him. He stayed with his eyes staring slanting down and one boney thumb tracing a circle on the table.
"Does the Invisible Vigilante have any connection with Dumbledore and his Order of Phoenix?"
"It doesn't seem so," said Rivers. "There isn't a single indication that the Invisible Vigilante is someone from the Order of Phoenix or that he's someone from outside who works with them. His scarce and unannounced appearance makes it hard for anyone to get a trace of his identity."
"Anyone else?"
"DMLE and the Ministry also don't know about his identity," said Nott Sr in contribution. "Auror Dawlish is a part of the task force created by Amelia Bones in her last days as the Head of DMLE with the aim to find the Invisible Vigilante. The efforts to find any clue, but their efforts have turned no fruit, even with the Minister assigning additional resource in hopes of finding him."
The yellow flame of the fireplace behind Voldemort turned blue, roaring up in size and fury. The Death Eaters held their breath, not willing to attract even a fleeting moment of attention to themselves.
"My Lord," all eyes turn to Peter Pettigrew, who sat well into the upper half of the table. "If it is true, then I suggest that we don't attack the Auror transport to free the failures. Their identities are ruined, and now they can't even wield magic, making them as useless as a squib, if not less."
Rivers didn't know if Peter Pettigrew had balls of steel or he was just plain stupid. When he glanced around, he knew he wasn't the only one with those thoughts; all had their heads dipped or averted. Everyone in the room knew that Voldemort had broken out those affected during the Quidditch Finals from Azkaban. Not because they were his Death Eaters, but because Voldemort wanted to find a cure or counter-curse to the Invisible Vigilante's magic. But till this date, Voldemort hadn't made any progress with half of those people dead or as good as dead because of the experimentation.
Pettigrew continued, "I'm sure Dumbledore and the Ministry are rearing to go on a tour; if we stay away and let the transfer to Azkaban as they planned, and nudge the papers in the right direction, we would be able to derail their efforts."
While Rivers had no intention to speak his thoughts, he couldn't help but agree with Pettigrew's reasoning. There was no benefit in rescuing people who had no use.
Rivers sighed internally. He could feel the glare from Barty. It wasn't his idea to pour water over his 'big' moment.
"No. . . the rescue will still happen," said Voldemort, making some in the room think that he won't abandon them if they ever got into trouble. But then Voldemort said, "I want to see how the Invisible Vigilante's curse reacted with Greyback's Lycanthropy. I don't care what happens to the others; I want Greyback in the basement the morning of the day after."
And that made River's worst dream come true. Among the things that Rivers wanted to avoid, coming across Invisible Vigilante was the last thing he wanted to happen. He would not only lose his magic and have one or two of his limbs removed but also would be hunted by the Dark Lord with the terrible fate of turning into a lab rat (it was only time when Voldemort ran out the people to kill.)
The company around the table watched Voldemort apprehensively, each of them, by their expression, having the same thought as Rivers. Voldemort, however, seemed to be speaking more to himself than to any of them.
"I have been careless and so have been thwarted by luck and chance, those wreckers of all but the best-laid plans. But I know better now. I understand those things that I did not understand before. I must take the matters into my own hand. There have been too many mistakes where Harry Potter is concerned. Some of them have been my own. That Potter and even Dumbledore lives is due more to my errors than to his triumphs."
At these words, seemingly in response to them, a sudden wail sounded, a terrible, drawn-out cry of misery and pain. Many of those at the table looked to Voldemort, startled, for the sound had issued from the man who had been trembling. . . the man who owned the house they sat in.
"Lucius," said Voldemort, with no change in his quiet, thoughtful tone, "first, you made the egregious error in my absence, and now your family has betrayed the cause by running away with the Dumbledore's bird club. Am I right to punish you for their wrongs, Lucius?"
"Y-Yes, m-my Lord," gasped the man who would die rather than be seen in anything less than perfect in appearance, but the same man had seemingly lost all of his dignity and polish.
"Dumbledore is alive, and that complicates the matter more than before," continued Voldemort; he watched his wand twirling in his fingers. "I thought with Dumbledore gone, I would be able to get my hands on Garrick Ollivander, but that doesn't seem to happen anytime soon. . . I still don't know why my magic doesn't work against Potter— though I do think that it is because of my wand.
For that reason, I shall need to borrow a wand from one of you."
The faces around him displayed nothing but shock; he might have announced that he wanted to borrow one of their arms. Asking a wizard to hand over their wand? From all the things one could ask for, it was one of the last things one should ask for from a wizard.
"No volunteers?" said Voldemort. "Let's see. . . Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore."
Lucius Malfoy looked up. His skin appeared yellowish and waxy in the firelight, and his eyes were sunken and shadowed. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.
"M-M-My Lord-d?"
"Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand."
"I-I. . . . "
"It was because of your son that Yaxley, Carrows, and the others lost their arms to the Invisible Vigilante. . . so it is only natural that the father must pay for his son's sins."
Voldemort waved his wand, and like a guillotine during the french renaissance dropping on heads, a wide silver blade dropped on Lucius' marked hand, cutting clean through the bone and the Dark Mark.
Everyone in the room averted their eyes as the scream pierced through the room.
Even Pettigrew drew in a breath and felt a phantom pain prick through his silver hand.
"There," said Voldemort, "you won't be needing your wand anymore. Now give me your wand as I asked you to do."
Malfoy, who had grabbed his hand with his other hand, painfully removed it, put his hand into his robes, withdrew a wand, and passed it along to Voldemort, who held it up in front of his red eyes, examining it closely.
"What is it?"
"E-Elm!"
"And the core?"
"Dr-rag— Har. . . ring. . . ."
"Dragon Heartstring, good," said Voldemort. He drew out his own wand and compared the lengths. Finally, he waved Lucius' wand and waved it at Lucius' stump, and a fire erupted around the wound, searing the flesh and cauterizing it shut.
"There, Lucius, a thank you for lending me your wand. Are you grateful?"
"Y-Y. . .Yes, mY LoRd!" said Lucius through tears.
"As you should be, Lucius, as you should be. . . it very well could have been green rather than silver."
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Voldemort - Dark Lord - A kind and compassionate lord.
Rivers Lock - Death Eater - Has assumed somewhat of a Spymaster position.
Peter Pettigrew - Wormtail - Didn't get a hand buddy,
Lucius Malfoy - Death Eater - And what did that get him?
FictionOnlyReader - Author - It might be late, but that was my contribution to April 1.
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.
If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the synopsis!
Just like always,
Review, comment, add to the library, and share this fic.
Thx
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