For the rest of Winter Break, Hydrus scoured the hallways day-and-night. Sometimes with his Cloak, other times with Hermione tagging along. No matter what he did, Hydrus couldn't seem to find the room again.
Not on the fifth floor, not on the fourth. Or the third, or the second, or the -
"I really don't understand why you're doing this," said Hermione. "There's something wrong about it. Didn't you have that feeling?"
"No," Hydrus told her impatiently. He powered on.
They never found that room again, or the mirror.
It wasn't long, with all the condolences of his broken betrothal, that the curious eyes came. They were silent, and watched from afar, as the old rumors from the beginning of the school year began to surface.
And yet, Hydrus found that he could not be bothered to pay the slightest bit of attention to their words this time around. It meant nothing to him. They were all whispers in the wind, and he had too many things to worry about.
The first and only person who came to him was Marcus Flint.
He was a burly fifth year boy with dark hair and an ugly sort of face.
Yet, when he approached, it was with respect, and when he spoke, it was with the archaic language of pureblood courtesy.
"Hydrus Malfoy," he said.
"Marcus Flint."
His voice sounded feeble and young against Flint's.
"They whisper of your prowess," he said.
"Mine?"
Marcus Flint nodded. "They say that House Greengrass is afraid of your darkness. They say that you hold the power of fire inside you."
Hydrus looked at him. "People say many things."
"Some more true than others. Did you really set the library afire?"
"Yes," he said softly.
Marcus Flint's eyes were alight with curiosity, his face guarded and his posture rigid. It was a test of sorts.
Hydrus focused and brought the swirling orange flames to mind.
They were beautiful in his hand, so bright and colourful. Marcus Flint lowered his eyes respectfully. "The words are true, then. You are truly as formidable as your predecessors."
"You are too kind, Marcus Flint. Too kind."
_(O.O)_
Professor Dumbledore never sent him a scroll again. There was never more an offer for a private lesson, and for that, Hydrus was extremely grateful.
"Does that mean you can control your, you know -" Hermione gestured awkwardly. The word 'pyrokinesis' seemed to be taboo. "- your… power?"
No. He just has no more information about Quirrell to milk from me. "I hope."
Hagrid invited them over another two times, to feast on his tea and rock-cakes. He would prattle on and on about something - a magical creature, or two, or three, before fantasizing about the greatest magical creature of them all: dragons.
And in private, Hydrus began flipping through thicker and thicker tomes, searching for the word Flamel.
"Your help has been wonderful," he told Hermione, "but I've found what I need to find on stones…"
"Which is?"
"I, um, thought you wouldn't approve…" Hydrus tried to think of Daphne, and without trying very hard, sorrow stained his features. "I was searching for a moonstone. That meant forgiveness… you know…"
"Of course I do."
And with every lie he said, Hydrus felt something vile creep up his throat.
But there was so much, so many terrible things that he had done and was doing that if he told Hermione all of it…
The days blurred together, where he spent his time mostly alone, stroking Caeruleus in absent-minded thought, or trying to find everything he could on stones, or with Professor Quirrell.
He spent too much time with that monster.
Hydrus learned to shoot a crossbow, and light the very tip of the quarrel so that any target would immediately be set into a blaze of fire. He learned the basics of Occlumency, and learned hand-to-hand combat. He lifted weights and ran for hours on end.
Once, Professor Snape cornered him and ordered that he return to Malfoy Manor. Hydrus shifted into an awkward fighting stance and lit his hands afire. With a deep, scarily quiet voice, Hydrus asked if he intended to force him there.
That was the last time someone bothered him about it.
When classes started once more, Hermione was back to her ever-studious self, pouring over Herbology texts, re-reading past Transfiguration assignments and listing Potions ingredients with an avid ferocity.
"You should be studying as well," she snapped at him one day.
"I'm good." Hydrus didn't have the heart to tell her that he had been tutored in all of that and more as a child. "I think I'll leave you to your homework."
"You've been going off on your own a lot," Hermione noted. "I mean," she continued awkwardly, "if you want to talk about it -"
"It's alright." He stood up. "I have to go somewhere."
"Again? But -"
Hydrus looked at her face, so lonely and hurt, but he could not miss this.
Professor Quirrell waited for him as he always did, holding blunted knives and a horrible smile.
Soon, the only sounds in the room were that of blades, scratching and writhing against each other, and the occasional grunt.
"Your arms lack muscle," Professor Quirrell told him for the hundredth time. Hydrus didn't bother to respond. "And your friend, Granger, that one. She has begun to note your absences."
Of course she had. They came together everyday, ever since… since early December. Almost two months. That was almost three hours every day that went unaccounted for.
"From now on, you'll be coming here at midnight," he told him.
"And my Astronomy classes?"
"On those days, you will come before."
Wordlessly, they put away the knives and picked up a crossbow. Hydrus struggled to pull the string behind the latch. As Professor Quirrell tut-tut'ed, he turned to him.
"A bow would be easier to draw," said Hydrus. "Why not that?"
"A crossbow will out-range a bow nine out of ten times, as I have taken to telling you most often."
"Then a knife." Hydrus turned to look at him. "A short sword has further range. Why not that?"
"Those are heavy. Imbalanced. Slow."
"You're training me to be a hunter." When Professor Quirrell gave a smile, a small, unlikely smile, Hydrus knew he was right. "Why?"
"My master requires a certain skill-set from his servants."
There it was. That word that sent goosebumps racing up his arm.
"Your master."
"My master," Professor Quirrell agreed.
A sudden thought came to him. "He doesn't want my public backing, which means he wants to be quietly funded… but since you're teaching me all of this…" Professor Quirrell urged him on with a curt nod. "It's not stags you want me to hunt, is it?"
"Not stags," he agreed. "Phoenixes."
_(O.O)_
In early February, Hydrus saw Daphne for the first time up close. He had begun to take his meals directly in the kitchens, behind the portrait of that bowl of fruit, or having it delivered to his dorm. During classes, she made sure to sit as far from him as possible, and Hogwarts was so vast that outside of classes, he never saw her.
His dear ex-betrothed was pale as snow, and her eyes were the blue of a choppy sea.
"Hydrus," she gasped. Her legs were trembling when she stepped back. "I mean… I meant… no disrespect, Lord Black."
"Daphne," he mumbled awkwardly. "I haven't come of age yet."
It was a great dishonour to annul a betrothal, especially if it was on the part of a woman. Half the purebloods in Hogwarts came over to Hydrus within the first week of school to express their contempt for "that filthy oathbreaker". The other half supported her for "taking an independent step" and "protecting your legacy".
He knew for a fact that Cygnus Greengrass had terminated the betrothal out of love for his daughter, and nothing more. Their family honour was in ruins because of Daphne. And she was terrified of him, even more terrified because House Malfoy had been insulted with the termination of the betrothal.
Daphne, who was once sweet and vivacious, was a shell of that former glory. Her eyes were stuck to the floor, and in a monotone, she said, "If I might beg your leave."
Quietly, Hydrus said, "Of course."
She scurried away.
He skipped his next class, even though Professor Snape would skin him alive the next time they meant. In silence, Hydrus walked the cold hallways of Hogwarts, wiping the tears that fell from his eyes.
"Shouldn't y-y-ou be in Potions r-r-ight now?"
His hands were aflame when he whirled around.
Professor Quirrell, that double-faced monster… he was there. His face was pale and thin, and he shook as he spoke.
"Professor," Hydrus said carefully. Furiously, he rubbed away the last of his tears.
The hallway was deserted. "Come," Professor Quirrell beckoned. He waved his hand.
They stopped at a statue of a one-eyed witch. She was carved from rough stone, a grotesque thing that seemed more animalistic than human.
Why Professor Quirrell stopped in front of that, Hydrus didn't know.
He lifted his wand and hissed, Dissendium.
The stones rearranged, and a passage appeared, dark and smelling of mould.
"Come," he said.
"Where does it lead to?"
"Does it matter?"
There was a ferocious glint in his eyes. Hydrus quelled his roiling stomach and followed him.
There was a stairway made of roughly packed dirt that led them through the underground, past the gnarled roots of old trees, and pebbles of all sorts of sizes. They kept going, and it seemed to get warmer as they went, until Professor Quirrell stopped abruptly.
The floor was wooden where they stood, and with the swish of a wand, he whisked away any last of the dirt.
A trapdoor, a fine panel of wood a shade darker than the rest, appeared. Swiftly, Professor Quirrell tapped his wand on the board. It opened smoothly.
Without a word, he beckoned Hydrus through the hole.
"I don't understand -"
"Quiet!"
"Where are we?"
He said nothing in response, and swished his wand once more. A queer feeling of cold water trickled down his back. When Hydrus looked down, his legs were almost the same colour as the dirt-packed walls.
"Go," Professor Quirrell hissed.
He jumped.
The floor was much closer than he thought. Hydrus landed in a pile of what seemed to be packaged candies in a crate. It was a small room, dusty and filled with many of the boxes he had landed in.
Professor Quirrell led him through a door in the back, and down a ladder, before they came into what seemed to be a shop. Children, no older than five, were running and screaming, picking up candies and pulling at their parents' robes. The air smelt of Chocolate Frogs and Sugar Quills, of laughter and sweets.
Professor Quirrell tapped his wand against Hydrus' head, and his arms were no longer transparent. "Do you know where we are?"
"No, sir."
They walked past rows of multi-coloured shapes, some red as blood, others blue as ice.
"We're in Honeydukes," said Professor Quirrell.
"Honeydukes?"
"Yes," he said. He threw open the doors. "Yes, Hydrus. We're in Hogsmeade."
_(O.O)_
"Do you see that man, Hydrus?" Professor Quirrell whispered. His head tilted ever-so slightly to the side.
They sat in the Three Broomsticks, surrounded by witches and wizards who didn't deign to spare them a second glance. Yet still, his heart pounded. To be caught outside of school…
"Quit looking so stricken, Hydrus." Professor Quirrell nudged the mug of butterbeer forward. "Drink. And watch that man."
His hands were shaking when he took a sip.
The man sat forlorn and gaunt in a dark corner, with a clear glass of some sort of dark amber liquid. Firewhisky.
"Look at him," Professor Quirrell said. "Tell me. What do you see?"
"A man," he told him.
"Look more closely."
"He has dark stubble on his chin."
"And what does that mean?"
"He hasn't shaved recently?"
Professor Quirrell rolled his eyes. "And why might that be?"
"He's going through a hard time. The firewhisky. The stubble. The gauntness."
"There we are. Now tell me, Hydrus. What do you think might have caused that?"
He fidgeted awkwardly. "A failed… a failed marriage… perhaps…"
"What else?"
"I don't… know."
He tittered. "You were born into wealth. There are some difficulties others might experience that you will never know. Learn to have an open mind."
"Is that why you brought me here?"
"People have their own plethora of stories. In order to manipulate a person, it is necessary to understand what makes them that way? Why do they laugh? Why do they cry? What is it they want? What is it they have? What is it they're willing to give up?"
Professor Quirrell looked at him with a horrible, terrifying face. For a moment, it seemed almost impossible that he could be that awkward stuttering man who taught Defense Against the Dark Arts.
"I…"
"Study these people, Hydrus. Find what motivates their actions."
_(O.O)_
"Do you mean to tell me," Professor Snape drawled, as he waved the slip of paper around, "that you skipped all of your classes this afternoon because Professor Quirrell needed you for something? Of which he didn't specify? Of which easily could have been forged?"
"Er," Hydrus said awkwardly. "Yes."
"I think not. Leave, now. And pray that what you have told me is the truth."
And swiftly, Professor Snape stood, his black robes a swirl of dark smoke, and left the room.
They never spoke of it again.
Some more days flew by, blending into weeks, filled with hours spent in the library, and more in the Room of Requirement, sparring with knives and bōs, pulling triggers on crossbows and fighting moving targets. In fact, it seemed that he barely spent any time at all with Hermione.
On this particular day, she waited for him in the library, with a thick stack of homework between them. "You haven't been sleeping well," Hermione told him.
"Thank you?"
"There are bags under your eyes, and you seem a bit more pale than before."
"Was that meant to be a compliment?"
Hermione chewed her lip and thumped a long scroll onto the table. "Are you stressed?"
"Stressed?"
"I don't… know. It's entirely… possible… ?"
He hadn't been sleeping enough, that much was true. The fatigue thrummed through him, and it obscured his every thought.
"I've been scouring the halls at night," Hydrus lied.
"Again?" Hermione sighed. "Hydrus, you can't be doing this! This isn't right."
"Yes, because a piece of paper tells you exactly what your moral boundaries should be."
Hermione glared at him. "I ought to tell Professor McGonagall about your Cloak. It's not allowed, what you're doing."
"You can tell her," Hydrus shrugged, "but you have no evidence." I need that Cloak more than you think. Please don't tell her.
Hermione harrumphed.
Hagrid appeared in between two shelves as she shook her head. He shuffled awkwardly, with both his arms tucked behind his back.
"Hagrid," Hydrus said. "Fancy meeting you here."
"Er, yes, o' course."
He inched backwards.
Look at him. He's hiding something.
"What book d'you have there?" Hydrus asked.
Hagrid looked at the ground. "'S nothing."
"Is it a book?" said Hermione, suddenly filled with curiosity. "Oh, I need new literature recommendations. But… there is no time to read with the exams coming up."
Maybe it's about the stone. "Can we come over later today?"
"Er, sorry. Got… things… errands… I…"
And then he moved off.
Hydrus caught a glimpse of something wrapped in canvas, about the shape of a Quaffle. That could be anything...
"Well," Hermione snapped, after Hagrid shuffled away, "you really ought to get your homework done. With all these classes you've missed, it'll be a wonder if you pass this year."
"I think I'll be alright." He stood up abruptly. His head was pounding. The dust was getting to him. "I have to…"
"You're behind in all of your classes."
"Not History of Magic."
"Hydrus!"
"I'm tired."
"But your homework - when will you have the chance to finish your Transfiguration essay due tomorrow?"
That was a good question, but Hydrus really was tired. Muggles had a sort of dark liquid the colour of cacao called 'coffee', but even that couldn't keep him awake some days.
"I'll do it later today."
"When?"
"Midnight? I don't know."
"Hydrus, this is serious."
He pushed in the chair and collected his things quickly. It was almost four o'clock.
Hermione was calling his name as he left, but Hydrus couldn't tell her the true reason why he had to leave.
_(O.O)_
He was rubbing his eyes furiously when the door to the Room of Requirement swung open.
"Do you remember your bangle?" Professor Quirrell asked.
"My bangle?"
He leaned forward in the chair and looked at him oddly. "When was the last time you slept?"
"Last night, sir."
"Clearly not enough."
"Er, sure."
"Your absence has been noted, Hydrus. Professor McGonagall, especially, has complained of your absence in her classes."
Transfiguration seemed like such a juvenile thing, a thing of the past, a thing a child might have studied… but him? Studying human motives, learning to fire a crossbows… was Hydrus truly a child?
Professor Quirrell seemed to hear his thoughts. "The Headmaster suspects something already. He hasn't shared his thoughts with the faculty -"
"Are you sure?"
"Use your brain. They would be calling for your head if they knew." Professor Quirrell sighed. "Give them no reason to suspect anything. Tomorrow, you have Transfiguration, do you not?"
"I do," said Hydrus, who felt as if he would be dreading what Professor Quirrell would say next.
"Apologise. Before class, after class, it makes no matter. And hand in your essay with an extra two inches added to the end of your parchment."
He hadn't even started his essay yet, but no one needed to know that.
"Now," Professor Quirrell said, "as I was saying. Your arm. The left."
He held his wrist in his hands, tapped the wreathed metal with his wand and said a sort of flowy language, that sounded sweet and bitter.
It shined dark red, and seemed to grow just as hot. Hydrus closed his eyes and grit his teeth.
When the pain faded, the bracelet seemed to have changed.
"What did you do?" Hydrus gasped, cradling his wrist awkwardly in his right hand. His eyes were wet with tears, and desperately, he tried to blink them away.
"A simple spell, designed to provide… extra protection, should the occasion ever arise."
"Protection," Hydrus repeated. Every man has a motive. You once said that. "It's not my own protection, is it?"
"Does it matter?"
"No," Hydrus mumbled. Even if he wanted to, he could not remove the band. It was part of the sick, twisted humour of the Blacks. Bound once, bound forever. "I suppose not."
It made his forehead itch. Idly, he scratched his scar. He felt something wet, and when he took his hand away, his fingers were slick with dark blood.
Hydrus stared at Professor Quirrell. "You…"
"It's working," he said. "Excellent."
"I'm bleeding."
Professor Quirrell waved his hand. "Wipe it off. The bleeding should stop quickly."
Somewhere, far, far away, Hydrus could hear screaming. It was loud, but soft in a way, that pierced the air, but seemed to be muffled all at once.
"There's…" he started. Professor Quirrell looked at him expectantly. "No, nevermind. It's nothing."
A wide grin crept onto his twisted features, more sinister than content.
_(O.O)_
The snow fell thick and white when Hydrus cracked the wooden doors open. Already, the grass was covered. That was bad. His Cloak would make him invisible, but his footprints would be seen.
But this was too important.
The wind crackled through the air, and the fringes of his Cloak lifted. For a moment, a brown boot could be seen, laced with fur and stark against the snow. It was gone, quick as it came, and footprints followed in its wake.
The window of Hagrid's hut was warm to the touch. Hydrus frowned and slowly, doing his best to keep silent, rubbed some snow onto the glass. It melted almost immediately, and dripped down. When he wiped it away, Hagrid appeared, sitting by the fire with a knife in hand, whittling a block of wood. Through the pane of glass, he could hear his muffled words.
"Yer a beautiful thing, ye know. Can't believe yer owner woulda' parted with ye."
Carefully, Hydrus pressed his face closer to the window. His breath misted against the glass, and it was difficult to see through the silvery Cloak. Squinting, he thought he made out something in the fire. Staring at it intently still made him uncomfortable, and the more he stared, the more his vision blurred.
Instead, his eyes took in the room. It was homely and filled with cushions. Plants, somehow green in the blistering cold of the winter, crawled through the room. Deep purple flowers, strung around the walls like wreaths, bloomed the colour of wine. Fang, that bloodhound, with a nose who might have smelled Hydrus if he were outside, lay curled beside Hagrid. It was because of that mutt that he was soaked to the bone, and covered with falling snow. Only on a snowy night would Hagrid have kept his wretched dog inside.
They were a remarkable pair, sitting together, one with his snout shoveled in a bowl of food, another with his snout staring into the fire… but what for?
Hagrid had something going on. That day, so many days ago, Hydrus had seen it. Yet looking around the inside of his hut, all seemed… normal.
"A mighty fine specimen," Hagrid was saying, "You'll be big as this hut, one day."
And then, carefully, he reached for a pair of tongs. With steady hands, Hagrid drew something from the fire.
It was black and the size of a quaffle, oval in shape.
Was it burned?
No, it couldn't be. Hagrid was too calm for that.
But what sort of thing was it, then? Black in colour, oval in shape… oval… like an egg…
Only, what sort of egg could withstand being burned?
In a sort of stupor, Hydrus watched as Hagrid flipped the egg around before turning to Fang. He said something - muffled by the howl the hound gave - before striding to the door.
Belatedly, Hydrus tugged the Cloak tighter around him and realized what was going on. He broke into a swift run - or as fast as a person could run in knee-deep snow - right as the wooden door creaked open. He sprinted to the thicket of trees in the Forbidden Forest.
Fang howled into the cold winter night, and through the whistling of the snow, Hydrus thought he heard Hagrid cursing ferociously.
He might have laughed there and then, watching the pair of them whip their heads in a frenzy, terrified of who might have seen them. That was proof, then. Proof that Hagrid was harbouring some illicit, something bad, something worth wondering about.
Perhaps it was related to that stone. That great stone that Professor Dumbledore was protecting and that both Quirrell and the red eyes wanted. Even if it wasn't, that could be worth a significant amount of blackmail.
Hydrus just needed to know what that black egg was. He watched from a distance, crouched uncomfortably in the snow. They made to follow his rushed footprints, but seemed to think better of it when they saw that it led to the Forbidden Forest.
He thinks I'm an elder student, capable of cursing him with magic, Hydrus thought hilariously.
Carefully, he watched, crouched under a fir tree, with pine needles scraping the top of his Cloak. Hagrid and Fang seemed to think better of their excursion and came back inside.
Not even bothering to hide his laughter, Hydrus let his guffaws flow with the wind, twisting it into a sort of deranged cackle.
Soon, he would be able to find out just what the stone was.
And for a terrifying moment, a voice whispered in the back of his head.
Soon, you might even steal it for yourself.
His laughter died on his lips. "I'm not a bad person," he said aloud, as if that would have made a difference. "At least… I'm not a thief."
That too sounded so very hollow.
And yet, with Professor Dumbledore knowing about the dark red eyes in his mind, Hydrus would be safe if he disobeyed.
Until the summer comes.
Perhaps he could make a bargain with the red eyes, convince it of something… just what he didn't know…
Hydrus leaned against the fir tree and wiped away the needles from his face. "What is it that you want to do with the stone?"
"Many things," the voice sounded weak, like crumbled parchment.
"And what if I were to keep it?"
"All of my loyal servants are aptly rewarded. Serve me faithfully, and it shall be yours."
So that was what he was. A servant. To a pair of red eyes that lived inside the dark shadows of his mind.
"And who are you?" Hydrus asked carefully.
"The greatest wizard to ever live."
_(O.O)_
The next morning, Professor McGonagall handed back their Transfiguration essays.
"Nicely done, Mister Malfoy," she murmured as she passed by.
Written on the top corner of his page, in bold black ink, was a great big O. Hydrus should have felt something. Excitement, or happiness, perhaps even a little bit sheepish. Yet, he stuffed the paper away, his thoughts murkier than usual.
Last night, Professor Quirrell had sparred with him. It had not gone well. The bruises were carefully concealed behind glamours, but none of it helped with the pain. He had been exhausted after that, and trampled noisily back to the Slytherin Common Rooms. But exhaustion and sleep were very different things, and as Hydrus lay in bed, listening to the disturbing mess of snores he heard from his roommates, the black egg kept swimming in his mind.
Even still, in this morning Transfiguration lesson, Hydrus felt his mind waver. The more he thought, the more a headache came over him, thick with drowsiness that made him want to rest his head on his arms and fall into a deep slumber.
He couldn't do that of course, Professor Quirrell had commanded that he be seen as a diligent student, but…
It was hard. Hydrus had woken up late this morning. Too late to go to the kitchens and get a cup of coffee. Later today, during lunch, perhaps.
As it turned out, he didn't have time for that. His feet led him from the Charms classroom all the way to the library.
Eggs… black eggs…
There were many books on eggs and magical creatures, yet as Hydrus stared at their faded titles, he thought he knew the answer. There were plenty of magical creatures resistant to fire, but only really one who was big enough to lay such monstrous eggs.
Quickly, he flipped to a page.
Yes, there it was.
Find what motivates a person.
He was walking down the steps of the Great Hall before he knew what he was doing, past the courtyard and onto the thick, white fields. The snow went up to his calves, and they soaked through the fringes of his trousers, but Hydrus couldn't feel the cold.
What makes them who they are?
Hagrid was carrying a sack full of wood when he found him. His thick beard was covered in snow, and slung on his back was an axe. The axe… He studied it… looking at the curve of the blade and the silvery glint of polished metal. Strong enough to chop firewood… but no, Hagrid would never use it on a student.
Use whatever motivates a person against them...
"Hydrus!" he called out happily.
They were almost alone. Somewhere in the distance, a group of children in thick fur cloaks were walking back to the school. That was good.
"Hagrid." Hydrus returned the greeting in a cool, quiet voice.
Hagrid's smile was gone. "Is everythin' alrigh'?"
He gathered a deep breath. Hagrid was too nice, too caring. Already, Hydrus felt guilt seep through his chest. "Tell me everything you know about the stone."
"I -" he stuttered. His eyes were wide as cauldrons. "I - you - you shouldn't know abou' that!"
His voice was calm and firm when he spoke. "Tell me."
"Can't - ye shouldn't even know abou' this -"
"Tell me," Hydrus said quietly, "or I will tell everyone in the school that you're breeding dragons in your hut. Illegally."
Hagrid seemed almost faint, as he stumbled backwards and dropped the sack of wood. "How -?" And then realization came upon him. "Last night. It was you. You -"
"My father sits on the Board of Governors. Tell me about the stone, or I'll write to him this very moment and have you ruined within a fortnight."
Hagrid scowled. "You wouldn't dare -"
"My father's only an owl away," Hydrus growled.
"I -"
His face pinched, and he looked sadly over at the castle. Hagrid sighed.
And then he started to talk.
A/N:
A very interesting chapter for this week - some of this stuff will come to play later in the book.
Huge thanks to KingZeRoPL for taking the time to write a review for my story. Your words might have been blunt, but they have definitely made me question multiple events that happen throughout this FanFic.
I think the reason why the plot development is so slow is because at the beginning, I had just about no idea where this story was going. A number of chapters can probably be cut or at least condensed, and the characters, I think, do need to be better developed.
When I've finished writing the story, I'll have to do a massive rewrite of this entire thing, hopefully with a faster plot and better characters.
If anyone else would like to pitch in their two cents (or quarters, I'm not very picky), I'm all ears.
Thank you so much for reading, and have a wonderful week!
Cheers.
