Smut and reference to violence in this chapter.
Chapter 28 – Alcazar Deslizan – March 24th, 1946
Hermione woke to the bright sun filing in through the window, her arms draped loosely around Tom's shoulders while his head laid on her chest, and his arms encircled tightly around her waist. It was moments like these that made her almost not mind the direction her life had taken, because it was moments like these that she could just admire him as he was, without the reality of how he was, ruining it.
She studied him, and not for the first time, nor probably the last, she thought he was the most beautiful man she'd ever known. She brought a hand up to gently run it through his hair, marvelling at the deep, rich shade of black, and the silky texture it maintained even in its current dishevelled state. On her chest, as he was, he faced the window, and with the light of the sun, she could almost count each of his long lashes, as well as the infinitesimally small and sparse freckles on his nose.
His arm tightened around her, and his eyes fluttered open, allowing her to observe as his pupils contracted from the light, which highlighted the strips of amber that circled the centre, so fine, that they were almost indiscernible from his usual translucent celadon. His gaze slowly focused, and he shifted his attention to her, studying her in return, before closing his eyes again and burrowing his face against her chest, which caused her to snicker.
"Stop, your beard is scratchy," she jibed, voice still raspy from sleep, knowing that he'd object to his facial hair being labelled as a beard, and she wasn't disappointed.
"Beard?" he scoffed and proceeded to rub his jaw against her, earning a squeal and a struggle to remove herself from his arms, only to fail miserably when she found her body smothered by no less than three pillows and his upper body.
It was an idyllic Sunday morning, where they spent the rest of it lazily telling jokes and exploring each other's bodies, and she could almost pretend that they were a normal couple, which was absolutely not what they were, realistically. They eventually separated and went about their days, Tom bringing Leo to register him for his fifth year at Hogwarts, and she, to Diagon Alley to meet up with Géraldine and Jean Pierre, to help her with a few errands.
It was later while sitting outside at Florian & Fortescue's new patio, across from her friend and younger brother that Hermione finally started to consider that the day was looking to be one of her good ones. Those were few and far in between, but she'd vaguely noticed that they became more frequent and common, the more time passed since her mother's death, though Hermione wasn't certain that her bad days would ever go away.
It probably had something to do Jaismine tipping off the rest of her friends to her lack of adjustment after their emotional confrontation almost two months ago. There had been a divide between them during the winter months, when her mother's death was freshest, where she'd sequestered herself away from them, barely answering letters, and turning down invitations to socialize in preference for sleeping. It also didn't help that, apparently, Tom had told them to stick to writing and to give her space, which they'd hesitantly did, thinking he'd know because it had been him she had called for. They hadn't exactly been wrong, and neither had Tom been wrong in that instance (or at least she thought so) she had just felt bad that she'd pushed them away all the same. Though almost instantaneously after that confrontation with Jas, any one of them would show up to the firm on the days she was there, to either drag her to the pub, or to dinner, just so she wouldn't go hide away in bed at the castle when her day was done.
She was broken out of her reverie by the fluttering wings of a beetle that landed on the wooden fence railing of the patio enclosure, right beside their table, but quickly turned her attention back to Géraldine, who'd asked her a question. She hadn't heard it, so she asked her to repeat it.
"How's your bill going?"
Hermione only huffed in response, heaving a large scoop of ice cream, coffee flavoured, onto her small wooden spoon and into her mouth, wincing when it sent cold shocks to her brain.
"It's...going, it's just deciphering these texts, but also, because they're the only texts of its kind in the isles, I need to find data from somewhere else that can corroborate it, but there are absolutely no references on the study of elves or their magic that can be purchased on the market, here in the UK, at least," she ranted and changing the subject so she didn't frustrate herself more, remembering that Géraldine had applied for a higher position that had just opened up in her department.
"How did your application turn out, you said you were going to try for it," she asked, and her friend sighed glumly, shaking her head and stabbing her wooden spoon into her frozen treat, a lemon sorbet that was guaranteed kosher.
"I didn't get it, Selwyn did," she answered moodily, and Hermione blinked trying to place the name.
"Wait, Nina Selwyn? Isn't she a year younger than us? That means she's being promoted after what? Six months of work over your year and a half?" she asked incredulously, outraged on behalf of her friend, and Géraldine let out a defeated sigh before shrugging.
"Maybe it's better after all, with this wedding planning, and taking care of Jean Pierre, I don't really have much time," she conceded, and Hermione remembered that Ron and her and set a date, and oddly enough, she didn't feel any negative emotion over it. They had chosen December Fifteenth, and to say she was excited was an understatement, the past year had been absolutely awful, and she saw this wedding as a good way to start 1947 off.
"Don't say that! Don't allow them to walk all over you," Hermione cautioned, and internally winced, thinking perhaps she should take her own advice, as she let Tom have far too much control over everything she did.
She scooped the rest of her ice cream up into her mouth and vanished the paper cup and wooden spoon, before placing her elbows onto the table and her chin in her hands, and considered her life as she knew it, while Géraldine nodded but didn't respond.
Jean Pierre was watching the beetle intently, trying to sneak his hand to catch it, but missed, causing it to fly away, and she watched it idly. She thought of her decision to stay in the UK, at least for now, she had considered leaving for about half a second, but chalked it up to being angry and frustrated, before dropping it entirely, as the idea of starting over had simultaneously sent a flash of anxiety to her stomach, as well as made her more exhausted then she's ever felt before.
She looked to her friend, who was also caught in her thoughts, Géraldine had found a life here, and though she didn't believe for a second that her lack of promotion was not discriminatory, she was getting married, had her younger brother with her, and was moving on with her life, despite the horrible tragedies she'd endured, and Hermione thought that there was no reason she couldn't either.
"You said earlier that we still have to head to Scribbulus to look for parchment for invitations, want to go now?" she asked, and her friend nodded, snapping out of her reverie. She gathered her bag into the crook of her arm while Géraldine cleaned the table of the mess, as well as Jean Pierre's hands and face of sticky ice cream, before she took one of the child's tiny hands in her own, while his sister took the other, and headed out of the patio.
THE DAILY PROPHET – Evening Edition – March 24th, 1946
Getting Rid of Elves?
You heard it here dear readers, you ask for unbiased news of
all that is happening and decidedly not happening, and do I have
a scoop for you! Apparently, there is a bill in the works to rid our
hardworking families of our elves, and I cannot stress the heartlessness
of the gesture, as some of our elves are considered family! As we know,
the last bill that made it to our impressive Wizengamot concerning house-elves
was in 1907, and it was spearheaded then by Madam Euphemia Potter,
though it did not receive the requisite votes then. Before that, was in 1888 by
Madam Guinevere Orpington, who'd died in a tragic broom accident a day
before the hearing, and was unable to present her case.
Is the third time the charm? Do we not work hard enough to keep our elves?
Is it a ploy of the French to change our values and traditions to make us
more like them? You tell me, dear reader! Owl us your think pieces, and we will
publish them here in your number one source of news: The Daily Prophet
-Rita Skeeter
Department of Mysteries Archives – April 2nd, 1946
It was late in the evening when Tom was still perusing the archives of the Department of Mysteries, his grey robes were still fastened around him, the hood still drawn up with shrouding charm, and black dyed nundu hide gloves on his hands to protect his skin from lasting magical traces that clung to every surface of the department. He was disillusioned as an extra precaution and studying intently the small section pertaining to soul magic.
The idea of creating a Horcrux that was housed in the body of another was a baffling piece of magic, as theoretically, it should work, as it'd been proven that a soul exists despite their host bodies, but soul magic was tricky magic and theoretical considerations had no place within it. There was absolutely no data on the state a living vessel would take once it was a Horcrux, if he made Hermione into one, would she still be Hermione? Or would she be herself with characteristics of himself added? If so, how noticeable would those characteristics be?
This was, of course, hypothetically speaking on the chance that adding a part of his soul to her body would not kill her in the process, which was unacceptable. So, Tom made a concession, he would not make her into a Horcrux, not yet, not until he had enough information, and knew that she would survive it.
As it stood, he was careful of his every move around her (despite his more 'adventurous' behaviour), she was his shield right now, at least, in the eyes of the Progressive Party who were constantly looking for any reason to discredit him, as long as she willingly stayed with him, no one would think to truly accuse him of the crimes he was absolutely committing, and that in itself, was priceless.
He held in a chuckle, recalling when that Skeeter woman wrote her discrediting 'think piece' on elves, oh, how Hermione had raged, not because she was found out, but because of the blatant spread of misinformation. He'd listened to her rant for over an hour on the 'dog-whistle' terms she'd found in the article, and though he'd read it and understood what she was saying, he still found it hilarious at how much it riled her up.
He skimmed his gloved hand across more spines before one stood out to him and he considered it for a moment. Plucking it off the shelf, he analyzed it, it was a small, thin book, like many of the others within the archive, as they all were essentially passed recorded experiments rather than published works, this one's title alluded to familiars and their mages.
An idea bloomed into his head that he hadn't considered before, that seemed all the more appealing as he thought more about it. He tapped the closed book against the inside of his other palm, before taking it to an empty table at the end of the aisle.
Potter Manor – July 28th, 1946
Guests milled under canopied tents that were spread around outside the grounds of Potter Manor, that stretched around the large Tudor styled manor, with its red brick and brown steep pitched roofing, accented by white and half-timber framing. It was Harry's twentieth birthday, and all of their Gryffindor's graduating class was present, socializing and playing games.
Hermione wandered around the grounds, looking at all the different trees and flower beds, the loud noises from guests talking seem to reverberate inside her skull, making her feel exhausted, even though she'd slept the whole night.
She leaned down to look at a batch of potion herbs, moving her swinging braids back over her shoulder, the greenish-blue shine of a beetle's shell on one of the leaves catching her attention. Before she could squint her eyes to scrutinize it, finding it vaguely familiar, the playful screams of children from behind her diverted her attention. She stood straight and turned around to see Jean Pierre being chased by Harry's seven-year-old sister, Maya, the sun's rays highlighting the silver strands in his blonde hair, and the coppery strands in her dark red.
She decided she should probably be more social, and head back to the crowd. She could hear cicadas whirring, and the sun was high in the sky, since Potter Manor was situated in the south of Britain, South Hampton to be exact, the weather was a lot warmer than she'd ever seen on Cape Clear, where Slytherin Castle was, in Ireland.
Today, despite her being out and about with friends, was not one of her good days, she felt tired, and very much ragged and weary to the bone at each encounter with old schoolmates, wanting nothing more than to go back to bed. Sometimes, it was just like that, and although her friends kept a close eye on her, she'd gotten rather good at lying and keeping a mask up so as to not worry them. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the help, it was just that, sometimes, it felt suffocating, especially considering that she put up with Tom as well, who also kept a close eye on her activity, sleeping, and eating habits.
A waiter went around serving flutes of champagne, and curiously, she took one, wondering what her friend was up to that required the fancy display. She found out soon enough, when she heard the tapping of glass, and along with the rest of the guests, turned to where Harry was standing, clinking a spoon against his flute. Once he had everyone's attention, he tossed it back on the table, and cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses.
"I just would like to say a quick thank you," he paused, making sure everyone was listening, "Thank you all for coming today, and most importantly, I'd like to thank Ginny Weasley, who had mercy on my poor soul, and accepted my proposal to marry me, not two hours ago," he chirped, raising a flute to her jokingly while she laughed, shaking her head all the while. Seamus let out a piercing whistle through his fingers, while everyone else clapped, Hermione included, while still balancing her half-full flute in her hand.
She went up to Harry and Ginny and congratulated them, giving them both hugs before abandoning her champagne and leaving the party outside to head into the manor to floo home. It wasn't that she wasn't happy for them, she had already known that Harry was going to propose, as he had told her, just not when, since he said he would wait for the perfect spontaneous moment. No, she was ecstatic for them, but there was a pervasive hollowness in her chest that made it hard to breathe, and she didn't think she could take any more socialization for the day.
She greeted no one upon entering the castle, didn't even bother to look for Tom or even Leo. She made her way to her room, stripping her robes once she got there, leaving them on the floor before she crawled into bed, huddling the blankets around her before falling into a merciful sleep.
THE DAILY PROPHET – Evening Edition – July 28th, 1946
Potter Heir to Marry?
You read it here dear readers! Harry James Potter is officially off
the market! Son of Lord James Potter and Healer-in-Charge of the
Janus Thickey Ward in Lily Evans Potter has officially become
engaged to the seventh child and only daughter of the Weasley family.
Ginevra Molly Weasley is also, notably, a star chaser for the Holyhead Harpies,
which she's been playing for since she graduated Hogwarts last year.
While Mr. Potter himself is in year two of four of his training in our very own
prestigious Auror program, not to mention, he's up to take the Potter
seat within our illustrious Wizengamot, when his father steps down.
Let me stress, readers, we are here to see it! We at the Daily Prophet will
be cheering all the way, and you can bet we'll be reporting on every other
spicy couple out there, so stay tuned!
-Rita Skeeter
Athens, Greece – September 22nd, 1946
Tom watched Hermione as she went from food stall to food stall, looking for which street food she wanted, it was late afternoon now, and he'd planned this weekend in Greece for her birthday. Of course, it was mostly so he could take advantage of a trip to the Library of Alexandria, which was just across the Mediterranean, on the shore of Egypt, and because it was a venture he knew she'd also enjoy, he essentially killed two birds with one stone.
The stalls here, unlike in Martinique, were more like airy enclosures of white sandstone buildings, with narrow alleys. Since it was one of the oldest magical communities in the world, it was massive, and it spread both underground and above ground, weaving alongside the muggle world. It was big enough to be its own certifiable labyrinth, which was an apt description, as the magical community of Athens, spanned across the entire city and was called Ο Λαβύρινθος, or O Lavýrinthos.
It was their last day there, and to say he was summarily satisfied would be an understatement. The first thing they had done was secure a port key to the library, where he had searched for records on Herpo the Foul, as he was known in Britain, Ἕρπων ὁ δεινός in Greek. He was a dark wizard, and incidentally, a parselmouth as well, and not mention he was credited for being the first to ever hatch a basilisk, as well as the first recorded to have ever made a Horcrux.
It had been tricky to research without picking up his witch's attention to what he had been looking for, but he was convinced that she'd been too immersed in her own readings to truly notice. They'd spent two days in the library, and they both left extremely satisfied, as she also apparently found everything she'd needed to complete her bill, for which she was set to present once she finished her internship, and had passed her W.O.M.B.
This success of hers had been extremely rewarding for him once they'd gotten back to their villa, she'd been in a much brighter mood than he's seen her in months, enough for her to allow him to fuck her, enthusiastically, on every flat surface of their rented home. Not to say nothing either of how fetching she looked in the traditional Greek wizarding robes, which he'd purchased in all light colours and with her hair loose and untwisted, floating around her head like a cloud, the Greek sun catching the lighter shaded curls, he could say confidently how rewarding this trip had turned out.
After their activities the night before, while they still laid in bed, she immediately had taken out her colour coordinated schedule, estimating that she'd be able to present the bill in October, pensive look on her face as she chewed on the end of her quill, using his chest as a makeshift desk to write little memos on the side margins. He'd noticed in the passing year that, despite him not restricting her access to her friends, she'd become increasingly dependent on him for platonic physical affection all the same (though not that he was complaining). The mornings he woke in her arms with her hands gently carding themselves through his hair were probably the only moments he'd ever known peace.
He'd such a visceral need to keep it for himself, to keep her for himself, that he would do anything to keep her there, even if it meant implicitly tying her to him by placing a piece of his soul into her.
He watched as she came back with two pitas, one with gyro and the other with what looked like chicken souvlaki, laying on a fresh pita and a thick layer of tzatziki sauce, with tomatoes and onions piled on top. She handed him the one with gyro, and he shook his head as he took it, absolutely sure that she purposely went for the messiest foods just to spite him when little did she know, she could put anything in his hands and he would eat it. Living in an orphanage had made food unimaginative, a lot of bland oatmeals and such, but he'd never starved necessarily, it mostly took a turn for the worse when the rationing hit with the war and during the summers he'd spent there, food had become scarce. Now that he was an adult, food was food, regardless of how messy or spicy it was, none of it bothered him.
They ate quickly, ducked off to the side away from walking traffic, against one of the white stone walls, when she finished, he'd noticed a spot of tzatziki on the corner of her lip, and leaned his head down to lick it, before kissing her. She leaned in, and fist her hands in his own white robes, reminding him, as her body pressed against him, that she wasn't wearing knickers underneath her chiffon robes, as they were still in his pocket from earlier that morning, he resisted the urge to escalate however and pulled away.
It was an experiment of his, instead of coercing her into sex, he riled her up, only to stop and make her decide if she wanted to continue or not. It was a bit of subtle conditioning for when she brought up her concerns that he didn't care for her consent when what she didn't know was that he got off on her enthusiastic consent the most.
She stared him dead in the eye as if considering her options before grabbing his hand and apparating them back to the villa, which was a significant jump, as it was on Nea Kameni, an island far south of Athens, settled inside the crescent of Santorini, which also held the volcano Tholos Naftilos.
Their villa was situated on the southwest side, against the actual volcano and it held the signature clean white walls and blue roofing of Santorini, except that this island was entirely populated by the magical population of Santorini (which was why they didn't care that they were situated on a literal volcano). The ground was always warm against bare feet, and they had a full view of the sunset in the west from their wide balcony, which is where she'd apparated them to.
Mature themes begin
He watched as she sat down on the low wall, back now facing the setting sun, and stared him down as she lifted her robes slowly. He licked his lips at the absolutely delectable sight she made, with the sunset creating a halo around her wild hair, darkening her skin more than it already was. Once she removed her robes entirely and sat there as naked as the day she was born, she opened her legs, revealing herself to him.
He took the few steps to reach her and knelt before her, grasping her knee and lifting it over his shoulder, and got to work, leaning in to drag his tongue over her centre before sucking on her nub while she gasped and gripped at the wall. It was definitely one of his favourite activities, because it was one thing to fuck her into a climax, and another entirely to bring her there with just his mouth and fingers, and she always made such delicious sounds, crossed between pleasure and shy embarrassment even until now.
She scraped her nails against his scalp as she came, legs positively vibrating, before guiding his face up and leaning in to kiss him, licking herself off his lips. He pulled her down onto the ground with him, and turned her to face the wall she'd been sitting on, grabbing his own robes and lifting them over his head, he stayed on his knees before lifting and settling her onto him backwards. She groaned lowly again, shifting her hips so she was more comfortable, her eyes closed in bliss.
"Watch the sunset," he whispered in her ear, and she opened them, reaching forward to grasp at the wall, she rocked her hips on him while he looped an arm around her and placed a knuckle against her clit. He let her do all the work, to take what she needed, sporadically leaving small kisses and nicks along her shoulder, watching as she stared at the setting sun with her mouth open in a silent gasp, eyes glazing.
From her left side, he could see the sun highlighting her eyes into pools of gold and fire before he leaned in to kiss her temple, whispering soft encouragements in her ear. He shifted his hips slightly and he must have hit a delicate spot in her because she moaned and her eyes snapped shut.
"Please," she gasped, rocking deeply back against him to try and replicate that movement, and so he splayed his other hand across her belly, that had been on her hip, lending her more force to her movements until she finally clenched around him and bent her head forward, as she climaxed. He took control after that to seek his own, the sun becoming flush with the line of the ocean when he found it, painting the sky a furious magenta as he held her flush down on him, spilling all he had into her. He then wrapped an arm around her waist, and the other across her chest, cupping her shoulder, he brought her back flush with his chest, still inside her, and kissed her cheek.
"Happy Birthday, Hermione."
Mature themes end
THE DAILY PROPHET – September 23rd, 1946
Romantic Greek Getaway for Mysterious Lord Slytherin?
Dear readers, have I got the juiciest details on the UK's biggest bachelor,
who turns out, may not be much of a bachelor after all! Eye witness reports
spill that Lord Thomas Marvolo Slytherin took a romantic weekend getaway
to Greece with one lucky witch, though unfortunately, her identity is unknown.
Whew! Who would have thought that the descendant of Salazar Slytherin,
one of our esteemed four founders of our beloved Hogwarts, was a regular
casanova!? We certainly didn't! Ah! It's almost as if we can hear the
shattering of hearts across the isles, who is this lucky witch!?
Talk about juicy!
-Rita Skeeter
Diagon Alley – September 26th, 1946
Hermione sat at Florian & Fortescue's on the patio after her shift at the firm, periodically checking her watch, pretending as if she was meeting someone, hoping her plan would work. It was almost as soon as they got back from Greece that Hermione was bombarded with mocking letters and vile howlers, some accusing her of stealing 'Lord Slytherin' and others rubbing it into her face that he didn't need her anymore, as he had someone else.
Turns out, Rita Skeeter was at it again, but this time, making sure to never name Hermione specifically. She didn't understand the reporter, she could just move on and find different stories that had nothing to do with her, and Hermione would gladly live her life without ever having to grace any of her atrocious columns with her eyes. She'd suspected for a while that she was getting her information illegally, but her piece on Tom had confirmed it, as portkey records were confidential unless requested by law enforcement with a warrant. The question had been, how was she doing it? So, Hermione tested out one of her theories, and had invited Harry to have coffee with her at the cafe down the alley, on their outside patio, when lo and behold, not five minutes into their conversation, did she see a beetle land on the railing near her.
Of course, she'd been absolutely enraged, but had restrained herself from acting out, carrying on with the conversation with her friend as if everything were normal, and when she left, instead of going home like she said she would, she had headed straight for the Improper Use of Magic Office, specifically, to look up the public list of registered animagi.
She hadn't known what she was expecting, but somehow wasn't surprised to find that if Rita Skeeter was an animagus, then she wasn't registered, and knowing the law as she did, she knew it was seven years minimum in Azkaban, depending on what nefarious purposes they'd used their skill towards. Seeing as Skeeter was using it to not only overcome to terms of her restraining order, but she was also using it to abuse the privacy of others, Hermione estimated that she would be looking at fourteen years.
So here she was now, glancing at her watch, waiting for no one, charmed unbreakable jar at the ready. She ate her ice cream, which was Coco Caribbean, as Mr. Fortescue had decided to keep the flavour from two years ago due to its popularity, and waited patiently.
Finally, a beetle landed on the wooden railing of the patio, and without preamble, her wand was in her hand and she stunned it, before scooping it into the jar and closing it. She finished her ice cream and placed the jar in her purse, vanishing the paper cup and wooden spoon, before heading to the floo with a spring in her step.
Rathlin Island / Northern Ireland – September 29th, 1946
Tom circled his prey slowly, as she whimpered at his feet, tied and restrained as she was, his spare wand resting lightly in his hand. He hadn't been on Rathlin Island since he's killed Kai Fawley in this very house over a year ago, a smirk tugged at his lips, he'd certainly benefited from that move. He heard a long hiss and his gaze swept up to Kaa slithering closer, he cocked his head at her, and whispered to her slowly, ignoring the sobbing mess at his feet.
§ Have you explored enough? §
§ This place tastes like death and burnt meat §
He snorted at that, well, he supposed he did barbecue here a year ago, but it was interesting to note that she was still able to pick up on it. Perhaps he should destroy the house after he finished his business here. He turned his stare downwards at his victim, she was an intern for The Daily Prophet, not even eighteen yet, and muggleborn to boot. He'd picked her specifically because she would hardly be missed, and he also told himself that she'd probably be better off dead anyhow, as chances of her ending up in prostitution were fifty/fifty.
He crouched down and grabbed her chin, grimacing at the wetness of her entire face from her tears. He cooed at her, tucking a bit of her long black hair away from her face, behind her ear.
"There, there, it'll be over soon, I'll even make it painless," he hushed at her, only for her sobs to renew, as she couldn't talk due to him removing her tongue earlier and cauterizing the stump in her mouth.
§ Are you ready? § he hissed at Kaa, who slithered into formation, her almost twelve-foot long body encircling his bound sacrifice. He pressed his spare wand to her chest, and gently kissed her forehead, and with an almost reverent whisper:
"Avada Kedavra."
She slumped dead against him after the flash of green dispersed, and he laid her corpse down gently, wiping the remaining tears away from her unseeing eyes, before closing them manually. Kaa raised her head, and he got to work, gently using his magic to tug at the loose sliver of his soul, he took both hands to cup Kaa's diamond-shaped head and directed the piece towards her.
He felt a flash of resistance, Kaa's own animalistic soul reacting instinctively, before folding upon his insistence and accepting his will. He saw white as it settled and forced himself to stay calm. After a minute, the white faded and he blinked, but instead of looking down at Kaa, he was looking up at himself through her eyes, and he could feel her adoration for him.
He closed his eyes once more and pulled at his occlumency shields until the connection broke and he was himself again. Kaa was looking at him, tongue flicking, still very much alive and healthy, a result he was very happy with, and he nodded towards the corpse at his feet.
§ Hungry? §
Authors Note: srry y'all been real busy with school. anyway, there are 2 more chapters to this story, should I just continue with the sequel on this story, or publish another one? cause on ao3 I'm able to have a series folder to connect the two stories, but here I can't, so I might keep it all published in one, but also, I've written the sequel to have a lot more character perspectives than I did here and I don't want the sudden influx of different character POVs to be confusing, so thoughts?
