The Big Top:

Screams tore through the night. They vanished not a second later only to loop back around overhead, wailing like a siren. The petrified terror which choked their voices brought a soft chuckle past his lips. Where else in the world could such curdling shrieks echo and not freeze one's bones with thoughts of murder? Of course, this giddy fear was mixed with cries of laughter and joy and high-pitched squeaks of 'Again! Again! Again!' which quite ruined the effect.

Theme parks were queer like that.

It had been years since he'd last been to one, on Dudley's tenth birthday, when the poor lump had stuffed himself so full of sweets that he waddled off a rollercoaster and threw up all over Uncle Vernon's new loafers. They'd never gone back since, but Harry loved it.

It reminded him of Diagon Alley, and if he closed his eyes, he could nearly see the brick archway of the Leaky Cauldron open in front of him.

The sense of wonder in the air around him was so much the same. It was in the muted disbelief of children crammed along the edges of a barricade; their eyes filled with the blinking lights of carnival games they couldn't wait to try. Not one of them would have been out of place with their noses pressed against the breath-fogged display of the latest Nimbus model. Neither would the ones who buzzed around like flies, darting between legs with toppling towers of ice creams as though they'd robbed poor Fortescue blind.

Vendors hollered at him as he walked by, trying to cut him the best deal on the menagerie's worth of stuffed animals overflowing from their carts. He shook his head and waved them off, watching pale flags flutter against the shadowed sky in the distance.

The fair had been raised in a day and in a handful more it would be gone again, but what he wanted could only be found tonight. There was no time for distractions.

Stepping into the throng, he melted amongst the families who were dragged this way and that by the easily captured attentions of their children. He was anonymous, an outlier, the one who didn't belong with no one the wiser. It was hidden here that Harry enjoyed being the most. He slipped from one group to another, as unnoticeable as the teens who slinked through shadowed corners hoping to smoke a pack of fags in secret.

"Richard, I really think we should head home, Alfie's been complaining of an aching tummy."

"Mommy! Alex knocked away my chips, again!"

"Go on Alan, one last ride and then I want to check out that magician, I heard he can do real magic!"

A crooked smile played at the edge of Harry's lips as the noises of unbothered conversation washed over him.

Once again, his mind turned to magic, but this time he thought of the bustling halls of Hogwarts. He listened around him as he did the incessant chatter of students after classes and slipped through the shifting crowds with the same relative ease. Even the first nip at his skin from the evening breeze reminded of the castle's cold, stone walls.

Only a few more days, he reminded himself, bringing the collar of his coat up against his neck. Summers were long, and without magic they stretched even longer. Thankfully September was approaching, and with it a new year at Hogwarts.

O.W.L. year, he thought. Let's hope it's not half as terrible as everyone says it is.

With school on the mind, Harry rubbed his thumb and two fingers together, building warmth between them. Slowly, each tip began to glow as though they were three small candles and with a sharp snap, a small scarlet flame burst into existence.

He didn't need to check if anyone had been watching him. Muggles saw what they wanted to see. When fire sprouted from some strange boy's fingertips, they would assume it came from a lighter.

Wandless magic… there was nothing more satisfying to Harry. That little trick had taken him months to learn. He'd spent countless hours scouring the library, pouring through dozens of old spellbooks on portable fires and fire-starting charms. It was only thanks to Granger, with her frizzy hair and funny teeth, that he'd finally been able to crack the theory behind it. She'd been invaluable with her knowledge on Bluebell Flames, and he'd kept it in mind to thank her at the start of term.

The flames warmed his hands as he cupped them to fill his palms, and Harry continued onwards in the direction of a large sign which loudly promoted: Live Magic on Show – The Performance of the Century.

"I heard it makes you question reality," a portly man with a bushy moustache whispered to a fellow father at his side, "He does things you would never believe."

Stuck behind their considerable girth, Harry found himself itch with irritation at being slowed down. He was on a rather tight schedule.

Squeezing his hands together, Harry extinguished the flames and reached down his shirt to pull out a necklace made of dark stone. It wasn't so much a piece a jewelry as it was a strange artifact. It was fashioned in the shape of a cube, no larger than a galleon, with four of its sides decorated with masks: one laughing, one crying, one screaming, one dying. They were brutally designed, yet beautiful in their own way, their likenesses capturing the emotions as if they were very real heads shrunken and turned to stone. Harry had happened upon it in his third year at Hogwarts, and since then he'd kept it around his neck and tried to learn as much about it as he could.

Snapping his fingers and lighting another fire, he lifted the necklace over the flickering tip of the flame. A moment passed before anything happened, but then, very quickly, the laughing mask sucked in the fire straight off his fingertips and through its stone lips. Tucking it back beneath his shirt, the necklace was hot to the touch, and beneath its jet surface it pulsed with an eerie orange glow.

It was difficult to describe its effects, but the air rippled over his face and to those looking on it was no longer his own.

Around him now came whispers and calls and endorsements for this magician, and the 'real magic' he was about to perform. The growing crowd was a seething cauldron of excitement.

Turning to a stranger at his side, he couldn't suppress the urge to teasingly ask, "Are you sure it's real magic?"

A wave of something that smelled like Aunt Petunia's kitchen cleaner immediately attacked his nostrils. "It must be, darling," the woman replied in a husky purr. Her lips were painted a garish red and the cut of her dress was dangerously low. "There isn't another man in the world like him."

Harry held back the urge to smirk as she feverishly began to fan herself. "I can't imagine what that might possibly look like. Does this man talk to snakes or something?"

"Oh! No, not snakes, but I wouldn't put it past him!" she exclaimed, breathlessly. "I once saw him turn a tortoise into a teacup and then drink from it! I'd met him after that particular show and—well, never mind, he likely doesn't even remember that night…" Her face was deeply flushed. "But it's his first show in years and I desperately needed to see it!"

Her eyes quickly glazed over in the memory of something he was quite sure he didn't want to know, and catching the eye of her despondent husband, Harry sent him a commiserate look before slipping away.

Not long after, a large gasp passed over the crowd, stealing the air from everyone's lungs. Harry stopped short and looked up to see an absurdly large tent poke its red and white striped cap into the sky. A sea of people migrated towards it, and the closer they drew, the more it loomed, the tip of the tent reaching nearly fifty feet in the air, towering magnificently over them all. At its entrance, men on stilts tossed sweets to children below, receiving yells and cries and whoops of delight in response.

The energy was feverish, and the show hadn't even started. People were pressed into one another like sardines in a can, knocking elbows and other pointed limbs into one another, and just as Harry managed to free himself inside, he was bowled into by a girl in a long coat.

They fell into a tangled heap on the floor, and Harry let out a grunt as he could feel his wand jab painfully into his side.

"I'm sorry, so sorry," the girl apologized hastily, picking herself up. Getting a better look at her as they stood, brushing the dirt off themselves, Harry noticed she looked only a handful of years older than himself; certainly, a good deal younger than the rest of this magician's fan club.

"Just really clumsy is all… I'm really, really sorry," he heard her mumble under her breath, before checking over her shoulder a final time and hurrying away.

Collecting himself, Harry took a moment to catch his breath. It was certainly a popular show. There was hardly an empty seat left inside. Five sets of risers had been set up around a large circular ring where the magician was set to perform, and looking towards the far end of the tent, Harry spotted a back entrance, guarded by a single man who looked distinctly bored on duty by its side.

Just as he was about to move in that direction, the lights dimmed, and music started to play from hidden speakers. Harry cursed under his breath. He'd missed his chance. That girl had knocked him over at the worst time. I guess I'll see what this magic man has to offer, he thought to himself, amused, before grabbing the closest empty seat he could find.

The music started as a low, distant rumble, before sweeping into a grand orchestral crescendo that ended with a blast better suited to a rock concert. Mist rose from the ground, and a series of colorful flares went off, just as a red blur came flying into the ring to the sound of deafening applause. Extending his arms into the air in an extravagant pose, the magician waved to the adoring crowd.

This man, this Great Barzingo as he called himself (somewhat hilariously in Harry's opinion), was dressed in a too-tall top hat and a velvet tailcoat dyed the deepest magenta. He was a showman of the highest order, one who painfully reminded Harry of his old Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Gilderoy Lockhart. They both possessed the same devastating combination of good looks and no brains.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN," he announced, his voice projecting to fill every corner of the big top, "I WELCOME YOU ALL, ON MY GRAND RETURN, TO THE SHOW WHERE I PROVE THAT MAGIC IS REAL!"

The crowd jumped to their feet, whistling, and screaming, the thrill of it all having gone straight to their heads. Harry on the other hand remained seated, his face scrunched up in an expression of intense pain that had nothing to do with where he had been jabbed earlier, and everything to do with the utter ponce standing in the center of the ring.

It felt as though it took forever for the applause to finally die down, and the man at the center of it all seemed to revel in every second of it.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you all… I truly love all my fans," he drawled, blowing kisses all around. "Now, without any further ado—unless there is more applause—no, really, you mustn't—oh, very well then, if you must."

Tuning out the utter farce playing out in front of him, Harry went back to scanning around the tent. A few stragglers were coming in late, squeezing through the stands to claim whatever spare seats remained, while the guard at the back looked bored as ever. Everyone else's eyes were fixed on the Great Barzingo as though in a trance. Almost everyone, that is. The girl who'd run into him minutes ago was holding a pen and notebook discreetly in her lap, sitting oddly on edge.

Maybe she's a rival magician trying to steal his act, Harry thought to himself in amusement. Good luck trying to steal what we're about to see…

Music started to play again, as the latest bout of applause began to recede. "Now then, with all that over with, let's see some magic," he said with a grand flourish of his hand. In that moment, someone who must have been his assistant came running on stage with a long, slender box in hand.

Harry blinked. He watched stupefied, not quite believing what his eyes were seeing. That can't be what I think it is… He knew Barzingo played a dangerous game, but surely, he was not this stupid.

"What's a magician without his magic wand, eh?"

He was.

With a cocky grin plastered right across his face, the fool pulled out a real wizard's wand.

There were 'Oohs'and 'Ahs', but from somewhere down below, it sounded like someone squawked. Flicking his eyes over, Harry saw the same girl scrambling in the dirt for her dropped pen.

A niggle of suspicion began to pull at the back of his mind. Something was not right. As someone who hadn't come here for the pleasure of the magic show, he was acutely aware of others who stood out for the same exact reason.

He didn't like this, not one bit.

Tracking her gaze, Harry noticed that this mysterious girl was focused intently on Barzingo's wand. Leaning forward slightly, she did a funny thing with her arm, patting it gently around the wrist as if checking to see if her watch was still there.

Something clicked in Harry's mind then. Something so obvious, he kicked himself for not realizing sooner… Harry wasn't the only one in this tent who knew what was so special about Barzingo's act.

Rubbing at his side, he suddenly remembered that he hadn't brought his wand tonight, nor his invisibility cloak for that matter. With what he had planned and the risks involved, he didn't want to add charges of underage sorcery to the list. There was only so much he could explain away if caught.

The jab to the ribs hadn't come from his own wand, which was sitting in the drawer of his desk at home on Privet Drive, it had come from whatever witch was sitting in the front row.

Are we here for the same reason? he wondered.

So distracted by this revelation, Harry only noticed the dancing flames which swirled about the room when they came so close, they nearly singed his eyebrows. Barzingo stood at the center of the ring, grinning like a loon, spinning fire like ribbons with his wand. The crowd sat with bated breath, kept quiet by fear, excitement and awe.

They exploded when the flames finally disappeared with wild flashes of Barzingo's wand, the man muttering incantations beneath his breath all the while.

On and on it went this way, all throughout the show. A swarm of butterflies came flying out of a hat before transforming midflight into a shower of confetti; bubbles of water came blowing out of his wand and floated about the room for children to pop; and a tea set flew up near his head, pouring a piping hot drink. Some of it was quite impressive, Harry had to admit, but the majority was nothing more than flashy charms and cheap tricks.

Barzingo wasn't nearly as talented as he thought himself to be. In the middle of his act, he took a long wooden pole, tapped it, and watched as it wriggled into a snake that crawled along the floor. But rather than grow scales, its back remained a flaky, woody green—a rather poor attempt at Transfiguration in Harry's opinion.

Keeping a close eye on the girl in the front row, her intentions became clear. She scribbled away in her notepad the entire show, documenting Barzingo's every move. He was her subject, and that did not bode well for the magician—or for Harry.

A blast sounded as loud as a canon, making Harry jump in his seat.

"The time has come, my dear ladies and gentlemen, for my grand finale!" A hush settled over the crowd, the air filled with anticipation at what he might do next. "For my final act… I will vanish from this spot before your very eyes. No mirrors, no smoke—" He wiggled his fingers mysteriously through the air "—Only magic."

He picked up his hat from where it had tumbled to the ground at some point during his act, dusted it off, and placed it back on his head; and before anyone knew what was happening, there was a crack like a whip, and The Great Barzingo was gone.

For a moment nobody knew what to do. Eyes all around the stands darted back and forth, confused, trying to read each other and deduce what was to happen next.

The first person to jump up was the witch in the front row, and Harry knew exactly why. The others took this as a sign that the show was over, erupting with such force the tent wobbled and threatened to come crashing down.

Money came flying from overhead, as handfuls of pounds came raining on stage and sterling banknotes were stuffed into baskets passed around the crowd.

Not letting the witch out of his sight, Harry leapt from his seat and slipped through the stirring crowd. It was like swimming against an unstoppable current. So many bodies were pushing towards the exit, cutting him off from his target on the other side.

Through the bobbing heads, Harry could see the witch approaching the guard at the back of the tent. Desperate, and at a loss for any other options, he snapped his fingers.

"Fire!" someone screamed. "Help! There's a fire! There's a fire!"

Chaos erupted, and bodies pushed madly against one another, frenzied with panic as they tried to escape. For a second, he was afraid he might be trampled, but finding an empty space at the corner of the tent, he forced his way to safety.

Harry could see the witch stop and glance between the guard and the stampeding crowd, looking torn. Definitely an Auror, he affirmed. That meant his diversion would last only a few minutes.

Keeping to the shadows and away from the growing blaze that caught everyone's attention, Harry slipped through the back entrance after waiting for the guard to run over and aid in the evacuation.

He stepped outside the main tent, and all fell silent. It was as though someone put a pair of thick, wooly ear-muffs over his ears, muffling all noise except the buzzing of his thoughts. A dozen feet to his left stood another, smaller tent, with lavish gold and silver stitching that twinkled in the moonlight.

Approaching the new tent, Harry rubbed his fingers together, taking comfort in the heat pulsing between them. Nerves wormed in the pit of his stomach, and the first doubts began to dig their way into his mind. Perhaps he should have brought his wand. So far, he'd only been concerned with getting here, but now, this is where things could go very wrong. He was walking in unarmed, something he never thought he would be foolish enough to do, despite it being the best plan available.

Parting the thick curtains in front of him, Harry entered unannounced, still battling his own uncertainty. Inside, he could hear a clutter of objects knocking into one another and the magician muttering to himself. Harry clung to the shadows, holding his breath, not wanting to give himself away just yet. It didn't seem to matter, however, as Barzingo was far too occupied with what he was doing to notice anyone sneaking up on him. Items whizzed about the room, posters and papers and stacks of books all zipping into an open suitcase, disappearing into a space much too small for what was inside.

He was in a hurry, packing at a furious pace, clearly wanting to get away as soon as possible; and whatever reservations Harry still held, vanished at the sight of Barzingo's panic.

"That's a neat trick, you should use that for your next show," said Harry, stepping into the light.

There was a high-pitched squeak, and Barzingo shot around. His eyes bulged and he fumbled for the wand at his side. Everything in the air simultaneously fell with a thump to the floor.

"I—I don't… Er—this was nothing…"

"You don't have to pretend," Harry said casually, circling the room. His eyes were scanning every open surface. "I know you're a wizard—or used to be one, at least. You're The Great Barzingo now."

"Listen kid, I don't know who you are, but a man has got to make a living," he said, straightening his velvet coat. Up close, he was an unsettling fellow, with shifty dark eyes and thin, wet lips. "Richard Barrel, the poor half-blood. The Ministry was never giving me a good job."

"What's your blood have to do with this?" said Harry.

"Are you stupid, kid?" Barzingo bit out with an ugly laugh. Harry bristled, which only had the man laughing again, almost sadly this time. "What? Don't like being called stupid? Well, blood is everything out there—you best not forget. I wasn't going to be pushing papers all day, no way! These muggles, they're the stupid ones. They lap it all up and come up with a million different excuses to explain it all away. So, I became The Great Barzingo, and it gave me money and fame."

"You do know how many laws you're breaking?" Harry pointed out, still looking around the room.

"I haven't been caught yet."

"And that's worth Azkaban?" countered Harry.

There was a pause, and Harry's eyes flicked over to see Barzingo shift uncomfortably. "Like I said…" he swallowed thickly, "I haven't been caught yet."

The magician bent over to pick up a book from a small desk, and that's when Harry saw it. Hidden underneath a scattered stack of parchment, was an oily black stone. Harry took two steps closer. It was about the size of an apple, but roughly shaped, as though it had been chipped off a larger rock. There was a strange haze surrounding it, like it was swallowing the light of the room into its inky depths.

There wasn't much time. He needed to get that stone.

"There's an Auror coming," Harry said suddenly, an idea forming in his mind.

Barzingo choked, nearly swallowing his own tongue. "What?" he sputtered.

"In the crowd today, I saw an Auror taking notes."

"Why are you only telling me this now, kid!" Barzingo snapped, the first beads of sweat glistening along his hairline. "I need to leave… I need to get out of here," he whispered to himself in a panic, looking around at all the things still littering the floor of his tent. "I haven't even got my money yet!"

Harry smirked. The man was clearly torn between his greed and need to protect himself. Now was his chance.

"I can help," Harry spoke as innocently as he could. "I could distract the Auror for you, tell her I saw you run off the other way."

Barzingo's dark eyes gleamed, the greed winning over in the end. "You'd do that for me, would you kid? Say, for a cut of my profits?"

"Not a cut of your profits," replied Harry, wrongfooting the man. He pointed across the room. "For that stone over there."

Barzingo stiffened. "No deal."

"Surely a stone can't be worth thatmuch," Harry said, watching the magician tighten his grip around his wand. Harry's heart was beating wildly against his chest.

Time was running out.

"What do you want it for?" Danger colored the edge of Barzingo's words.

"I collect rocks," Harry smiled, rubbing his fingers.

Barzingo pointed his wand at Harry now and slammed his suitcase shut, giving up on everything that was still left in the room. "Bugger off kid, and take your offer with you. I'm not giving you my money or the stone."

Harry sighed. "I tried nicely, don't forget that."

He snapped his fingers.

Another benefit, Harry had almost forgotten, to wandless magic, was its rather intimidating illusion to the general wizarding population. And to Barzingo, seeing a teenage boy with flames licking out of his fingers, it must have been quite the sight.

"Who are you?" uttered Barzingo, breathlessly.

From outside, Harry thought he could hear something move. "Listen, I just want the stone. I would have stolen it during the show but didn't have the time."

"Y-you can't have it." Barzingo's eyes flicked around looking for any sort of help.

Behind him, Harry heard the tent flap rustle. He couldn't wait any longer. Throwing his hand out, fire leapt from his palm towards Barzingo, who shrieked and ducked for cover.

With the man out of the way, Harry sprinted for the stone, picked it up from the table and shoved it into the pocket of his trousers. From the entrance, the Auror must have heard the sudden commotion, as she came bursting into the room just as Harry ducked out the back.

"The boy! Did you see him—"

Harry could just make out the sound of Barzingo shouting after him, as he tore through the fair grounds at a full sprint.

The crowds had thinned since the start of the show, leaving a bare stretch of stamped grass and kicked up dirt in front of him. Not needing to dodge between dawdling couples, it made it easier for him to get away, but unfortunately it made him easier to spot as well.

Throwing a look over his shoulder, Harry could see the Auror tripping over her long coat as crashed out of the tent after him.

Turning a corner sharply, Harry ducked into a store that sold strange exotic scarfs before doubling back towards the big top and moving opposite of where he'd initially gone. It wasn't until he reached a cluster of people gawping at the rising plumes of thick smoke that he slowed.

"What do you think started the fire?" asked one of the onlookers.

"Probably from his act," a man suggested. "He was spinning so much fire it was bound to catch one of the curtains."

"Nonsense!" another shouted as he stomped towards the growing crowd. "I'm telling you it was sabotage! I saw some shifty characters hanging out back when the show ended."

Not wishing to stick around any longer, Harry tailed closely to a young family who were heading towards the carpark. But before he could so much as see the exit, a tingling at the back of neck forced him to turn around. A man, some distance off, was staring at him a little too keenly and the briskness to his pace could not have been a mere coincidence.

Veering off, he worked his way back to the center of the grounds where he slipped into the long line waiting for the Ferris Wheel. Minutes passed as the queue moved steadily forward, with Harry nearing the front, listening to everything around him, his nerves on edge.

"Excuse me, beg my pardon," an old voice said from somewhere nearby, "I'm looking for my grandson." Harry could feel the queue parting and shifting around him. "I think he's just up near the front."

And that's when he saw her, the old lady, but not really. A rush of excitement shot through him and he almost laughed. It wasn't multiple Aurors chasing him. It was a Metamorphmagus! He'd never met one, only ever read about them, and a part of him wanted to stop and ask her a million questions.

But as she approached, her eyes narrowing on him like a hawk, he reconsidered his curiosity and ducked out of the line. He felt like a rat trapped in a maze, running out of spaces to hide.

She was good, very good, and Harry was forced to his last resort.

Steering towards a deserted part of the fairgrounds, Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a small carved twig. Behind him, the old woman melted back into the form of the young girl who'd originally crashed into him.

Harry had yet to get over just how cool that was.

Focusing back on the twig, he ran his fingers carefully down the etchings on its side, gripping it strongly as the wood began to thicken, then lengthen, and sprout bristles from its bottom. With one smooth hop, he mounted his broom and shot up into the night sky.

Wind whipped pleasantly across his face, as he rose higher and higher above the earth and into the murky grey clouds. Off in the distance, he could see the metropolis that was London, shining across the horizon like an ocean of light; and with a twist of his broom, he set off in the direction of Little Whinging, Surrey.

However, before he could even begin to enjoy the feel of the clean, crisp air, his attention was drawn by a soft whistling from behind him. She doesn't give up easily, Harry thought wryly.

He stopped and turned to greet the approaching figure.

"Stop—right—there—kid," the Auror said, panting heavily. She clung rather stiffly to her broom, and Harry was immediately reassured he could outrace her if the need arose.

He chose to humor her instead.

"You know, I would've given up a while ago if I were you."

"Oh, and why's that?" the Auror asked while establishing a more stable position for herself on her broom.

"The person you really want to catch is down there." Harry nodded in the direction of the ground below.

"I wouldn't worry about that idiot." The Auror squinted her eyes trying to get a better look at Harry, as though there was something funny on his face. "He told me you stole something from him. That's evidence I'll be needing"

Harry could feel the lump in his pocket. "Have you considered he might have lied to you, to try and get away?"

"I've also considered you might lie to me, to try and get away, too," she returned, clearly amused. "So, why d'you run?"

"Why d'you chase me?"

She laughed, throwing her head back in the air. "You're a smart kid. The name's Tonks by the way, thought you deserved to know that at least." She held out a hand. "What's yours?"

"Piers," Harry lied easily, not taking it.

Snorting, she shook her head and brought her hand back to the neck of her broom. "Alright, Not-Piers, have it your way. That was a neat trick you did with your broom back there, interesting piece of magic. Shame it was illegal."

"How so?" Harry was enjoying this.

"I wasn't born yesterday. I know underage sorcery when I see it. C'mon kid, I like you, I don't want you to get into any more trouble."

"If you don't want trouble, then you should start with not chasing underage boys on brooms, it's not a good look for a young Auror like you."

"Alright, that's enough," she said, her hair flickering to a pink that matched the blush on her face, "hand the damn thing over and I'll write you up a little warning and nobody'll be the wiser."

"Well, as wonderful as that sounds, I really should be going," said Harry, making a show of checking his wristwatch. "It's past my bedtime and my Aunt and Uncle will be very worried."

"That's it—"

Harry didn't give the Auror — Tonks — a chance to finish. Sliding his finger back down the runes carved into the handle of his broom, it immediately shrunk out from under him.

Tonks' shouts were drowned out by the sound of the air hurtling past him, and he let out a whoop of joy at the feeling of weightlessness that suddenly took hold of his body. With the ground rapidly approaching, he threw his shoulder and twisted in the air, vanishing with a CRACK and instantly landing on the front doorstep of Number 4 Privet Drive.

AN:

Happy New Year! With the new year, I thought it appropriate to give you a taste of the new story I am working on. I have about 6 chapters done and 10 outlined, the rest is a vague mess in my mind currently. Progress has been slow unfortunately, but hopefully my resolution of making time consistently to write more in 2022 will move the progress along. Starting to post here is part of my motivating plan. I'm quite excited about this project, and I hope those of you who enjoyed A Beautiful Lie and Three Steps to Love will also enjoy this! And to those of you who are new, I hope you enjoy as well (and go check out my 2 other completed stories)!

Please leave your thoughts, constructive or otherwise. Feedback is a main motivator and helps me grow.