Chapter Five: The Clock Ticks

I am sick of the chase,
But I'm hungry for blood
And there's nothing I can do

– "Killer," Phoebe Bridgers

We don't know the weight of all the words we say now
In a few more years, with open ears,
Would you still say them aloud?

– "Ophelia," Marika Hackman

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As it turned out, sleeping in the Slytherin common room under the lake (Luna had rejected the girls' dormitory for as long as she was reasonably able to keep out of it, finding its atmosphere intensely dark and draconian) was not nearly as unpleasant as she had originally expected. Although it had little natural light and was generally much cooler than the Ravenclaw common room, it nevertheless had a kind of unobtrusive, sophisticated ambiance which appealed to her somewhat solitary nature. Not to mention that there were, for the moment at least, no wayward feet tripping her in the hallway, no mischievous Nargles stealing her things, and no thoughtless tongues gleefully twisting her first name — bestowed so lovingly by her mother — into the hated epithet, Loony. The word had always tasted sour on her tongue, even before the first time she'd heard it directed at her. It was nice to have a break from hearing it.

Luna dressed carefully that morning. She had realised quickly that once Voldemort arrived at the school she would probably have to tone down her customary bright, eclectic style of dress in order to avoid attracting the wrong kind of attention — this being, of course, the kind of attention that might cause him to keep away and not speak to her. The fact that she was now forced to take note of this sort of thing, after she had so diligently failed to pay attention to other people's opinions of her for so many years of her life, was causing Luna no small amount of irritation and chagrin. She had noticed early in life that her personal style sometimes put people off, but she had been able to happily pretend those people away for as long as she could remember. Here and now, however, that was not an option. Although Luna was loath to abandon her favourite means of self-expression, she could not afford to be indulgent, even in such seemingly small matters as how she presented herself.

Therefore, Luna wanted to make these last days count; she wanted to dress as she liked, and as her mother had liked her to dress. Pandora had always complimented her taste in clothes as a child, had gladly opened her wardrobe for Luna and let her try on anything she liked — never saying that this and that clashed, or that her socks didn't match, or that those pearls were too formal to wear for everyday with jeans and a tee-shirt and little pink trainers. So Luna had always worn what she wanted, and not given a second thought to anybody who didn't like it.

Today she wore her favourite bright yellow sweater, a knee-length iris-print skirt that she had made herself, and purple striped socks. For good measure, because she knew she probably would have to put them away for a long while, she also donned her favourite pair of earrings — the ones Harry Potter had once compared to dirigible plums — and her Nargle-repellent cork necklace, which before the war she had hardly ever taken off, but which had been absent from her usual wardrobe of late. She was briefly tempted, although she almost never did so, to check her reflection before leaving for breakfast; as the Slytherin common room had no mirrors, however, she simply made her way to the Great Hall, where Ron was waiting.

He waved at her, and she went over to sit by him. The large, cavernous room was completely empty except for the two of them; presumably most of the faculty and staff had already eaten, as it was getting rather late. Ron seemed faintly uncomfortable at the oppressive silence, and Luna was glad of the opportunity to ameliorate it for him.

"Good morning, Ron," she greeted him, examining his face studiously as she checked him over for signs of Plimpy Sickness. Plimpy Sickness was a rare malady that induced hysterical insomnia, its contraction said to be typical in first-time time-travellers; she felt very lucky indeed to have escaped it herself. Ron, for his part, looked as though he had slept well enough. One could never be quite sure of Plimpy Sickness, it was true, but then again Ron didn't usually tend to hide his afflictions when he had them, often opting instead to complain rather loudly in a kind of half-plea for sympathy, half-attempt at humour. Hermione had typically seemed unable to decide whether she found this habit endearing or annoying, but Luna had never really minded either way.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked, just to be sure, and when he nodded — stifling a yawn — she leaned back, satisfied. After a moment he opened his mouth to speak, and she began filling her plate with food.

"Oh, hey, before I forget," Ron exclaimed suddenly, "what are you doing with your bezoar? I wasn't quite sure how to… handle mine. You know, a goat-stone… sort of disgusting when you think about it." He shifted uncomfortably.

"Actually, in our situation, it's very valuable," Luna informed him. "You want to keep it close at all times, so you know where it is. And don't break it, either." She took a sip of pumpkin juice. "Mine's in my shoe."

Ron was looking at her with a humorous glint in his eye. "Guess I've been keeping my treasures close to my heart, then, eh?" He patted the breast pocket of his robes. "I had a feeling leaving it in the dormitory would be a bad idea, but it still feels a bit odd, you know, just carrying it around…"

Luna's attention started to wander slightly — she was looking at the hangings over the different house tables and wondering if they were the same as in the 1990s, because it looked as though the material might be a bit different, heavier maybe, or thicker — when Ron cleared his throat. After a moment she registered the sound and looked back at him, her already high-set brows rising further.

"I actually wanted to talk to you about the plan," Ron said, taking a bite of his toast. "Do you have an idea of where you're going to start? I mean, with somebody like Riddle…" His voice was muffled by the toast, and he swallowed and went on, "with somebody like Riddle, you've sort of got to have a game plan — at least I think so; he'd have a game plan, anyway." He looked at her expectantly.

"I'll handle it," said Luna. Almost immediately afterward, she felt compelled to add, "I think they changed the hangings. They look almost… darker, somehow."

Ron coughed and looked briefly to the side, then back at her. He ignored the hangings comment. "That's all? You'll handle it." He ran a hand through his hair, looking stressed. "Luna — "

"I know you might not think I'm the best person for this, Ron," she interrupted, her musical voice perfectly even. "And that's fine. I don't think about things the way you do, I don't make plans the way you do, I don't think about strategies or tactics or that kind of thing at all, really. I usually just like to see where things go on their own, and they tend to work themselves out." She gave him a small smile and added, "I've never won a game of Wizards' Chess."

Ron grinned back briefly in spite of himself, but the serious look quickly returned. "Look — that's all fine and good and all, and I'm okay with you going about things the way you… usually do. Whatever that is. But we still have to think practically here," he pointed out in an urgent tone. "We have a limited amount of time to stop him. If we'd come back further, I'd say we had maybe a year at the outside. At this point, the best we can hope for is about half that time, probably less. You picked this year because it's the year he's your age, but he'll also be making his first Horcrux by the end of the year if everything runs its course." Ron looked intently at her, as if willing her to agree with him. "We have to set a time limit."

"A time limit," Luna echoed faintly. This side of things hadn't occurred to her; she had been thinking of Riddle as a slow-moving, continually unfolding relationship that she would form over a lifetime, not a series of events that she had to race the clock to derail before they hit their mark and made him irreversibly evil. Almost without being aware of it, she reached her hands up to tangle in her hair, a childhood habit of hers whenever things had become too much for her. These days, almost nothing was too much for Luna, but she found herself appreciating the comfort of the old gesture.

"Yes," Ron said firmly. "Six months. You have six months to get the psycho to change his ways and decide not to be Voldemort. After that, we give him up as a lost cause and I get rid of him. Agreed?" He held out a hand.

"Don't call him that," Luna said, her voice still quiet. "It's not kind."

Ron had the grace to look a little embarrassed. He did not, however, withdraw his hand.

"All right," she said at last, and shook his hand. "I'll do it in six months."

"Or I'll kill him," Ron repeated lightly, in what appeared to be a halfway-aborted attempt at a poor joke. Luna released his hand as if burned.

She looked at him mournfully, her silvery eyes wide. "I wish you weren't so accepting of that idea, Ron."

He paused, and then said in a slightly more subdued tone, "Me too, sometimes, but somebody's got to be."

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Luna was reflecting on this later in the day, as she sat on the hill where the Whomping Willow would one day be planted and watched the sea of long grass ripple steadily back and forth. Grey, puffy clouds were scudding across the sky over the castle; it looked like one of the last of the summer storms was on its way.

She didn't know what to make of what Ron had said. The two of them had eaten their breakfast in slightly uncomfortable silence, and Ron had sat with her until she'd finished, unwilling, despite the awkward atmosphere, to leave her to eat alone. This, more than anything, demonstrated to her Ron's fundamental personal duality, a conflict of character that she was absolutely incapable of understanding.

Ron was not a selfish person, and had proved this on a number of occasions, both in her presence and through what she had heard from others (mostly Ginny, but occasionally Hermione as well). Although he could at times be thoughtless or less than sensitive, he was at heart a deeply caring and kind person. His aura (or what little she could see of it at the moment) was warmly coloured and impressively stable, despite his tendency toward sudden, often plainly irrational outbursts of emotion. Ron was strong-hearted, dependable, loyal, and compassionate — an excellent friend, in short.

So how could he so easily entertain the idea of killing someone else?

Luna pulled at her hair, feeling slightly despondent. The problem wasn't tormenting her soul, but it had been bothering at her mind for ages, like a particularly persistent Scythian Ring-Gnat.

She just didn't comprehend it. Fred had been killed, Harry Potter had been killed — Daddy had been killed because somebody else didn't see a problem with killing. Probably they had thought about it in much the same cavalier fashion that Ron appeared to, although admittedly he didn't seem quite so gung-ho about it as Ginny had evidently been.

A loud crack of thunder rumbled a little ways away, and Luna shifted where she sat, briefly considering going back to the castle before getting distracted by her thoughts again.

Maybe Ron would say that killing was only okay in certain kinds of circumstances, like this one. Or for certain people. But where did it stop? Who was supposed to decide that sort of thing? Did you kill all murderers, sociopaths and jealous spouses alike? Did you kill rapists, violent boyfriends and girlfriends, muggers on the street? Snatchers? Corrupt Aurors? Cowardly Ministers who failed to serve the people and instead served only themselves? All of those people had done, in her eyes, immeasurable wrong, although in drastically varied ways.

But if you were to murder all those people because they deserved it, it was still murder. Would someone else then take on the task of murdering you in kind?

She supposed that was, at least on the surface, the purpose of the law. Luna knew better than most, however, that the law could be twisted to evil ends, when those who understood it well enough chose to utilise it as such. But in any case, even if the Ministry of her own time had not been so thoroughly infiltrated by Voldemort's forces, the law of the present had no place in the past. Most of Voldemort's crimes as a Dark Wizard had not been committed yet, and those that had had left behind little evidence of his involvement. She didn't think bringing forward evidence obtained in the future, against a citizen of the past, constituted due process. It seemed somehow deeply unfair, although she was certain many of her friends would have argued with that idea.

It was true that if her efforts to stop Riddle from becoming Voldemort failed, she could see no way around the problem of having to murder him. Now that she was here and had the power to change things, she could not stand by and allow him to grow up to kill everyone she loved, as he inevitably would if things in the future continued to progress as they had.

Luna watched as the sun, wheeling high overhead, was slowly blanketed in clouds. She felt the first raindrop hit the top of her head and was halfway back to the castle when the rain began to intensify and, after a moment, came down in heavy sheets. She reached the entrance and stood outside for a moment longer, feeling the cold chill of the water as it ran through her hair, down the back of her neck, and into her shoes.

She thought, feeling somehow hollow in a way she never had before, that it was like tears.

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Luna spent the rest of the day in a kind of exhausted daze, unable to focus on anything, not even her usual variety of distracted, disinterested musings and dreamy half-thoughts. Her face, which normally looked in its resting state as if she'd just been caught in a state of mild surprise, felt slack and leaden, and her footsteps fell rather more loudly than usual as she aimlessly wandered the hallways of the school which she had come to know as a second home, taking care to avoid any professors that she saw walking about the castle. She went to bed early without eating, in the hopes that a few extra hours of sleep would bolster her spirits the following morning.

As it turned out, they did. She still had no clear answer to the question of how to handle Riddle if she were to fail in her mission, but the light of day made this obstacle seem much less looming and insurmountable. Ron was not in the Great Hall when she arrived there for breakfast, wearing a mustard-coloured, star-patterned skirt and a sky-blue tee with a slowly moving image of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack carefully spelled into it. She ate without him.

Ron caught her on her way out of the castle; he'd been zooming about in the air on a spare broomstick, evidently practising his flying in case he decided to go out for Quidditch for the year, and nearly crash-landed on the ground in front of her in his effort to intercept her. "Hey, Luna," he said, sounding rather more cheery than usual as he stumbled off his broomstick and strode toward her; it seemed the exercise had relaxed him somewhat, and the ever-present tension that had been flitting around in his aura of late was much reduced.

"Good afternoon, Ron," she answered back, smiling vaguely. "I didn't interrupt your practising, did I?"

He laughed. "Oh — don't worry about that, I should be thanking you. This thing's got the handling of a barge and the speed of a kappa in the desert… I reckon school brooms never really change, do they? Maybe this fellow's still sitting in a cupboard somewhere, back in our time, waiting for some poor soul to pull him out again." He stood there grinning at her and waiting for a response, and when her placid expression did not change, Ron leaned back and scrutinised her for a moment. "So… you're not angry with me or anything, right?"

Luna was briefly taken aback, and quickly ran through their interactions over the past two days in her mind. Did I seem unhappy with him? "Why would I be angry?" she inquired with sincere confusion. It was true, she wasn't exactly glad about the reason he was there with her, but it was nice to have a friend along and it certainly hadn't upset her enough to make her hold a grudge.

Ron half-shrugged, looking equally bemused. "I just reckoned you might have… well, never mind that. Dumbledore wants to see you, to confirm all your class registrations and all that. He's in his office," he added. "Went to speak with him earlier myself… glad I got it over with first, to be honest. Dumbledore's… er, always put me on edge a bit." He seemed a little self-conscious about admitting this, but Luna thought it perfectly understandable. She'd never been intimidated by Albus Dumbledore, but it was easy to see how those piercing eyes could induce a sense of unease in some people. Ron was probably a tad over-awed with him, as he had come from a wizarding family where Dumbledore was often talked about and likely somewhat intertwined with the family lore, as a kind of mythical figure children were raised to look up to. Luna had of course heard of Dumbledore before entering Hogwarts, but the extent of his larger-than-life reputation had not become clear to her until a year or so after she met him personally.

She was tempted to ask him about some of this, but she was reluctant to leave Professor Dumbledore waiting, especially after he had done so much to help the two of them already. So she merely said, "Thank you, Ron. I'll see you later," turned on her heel, and left.

Dumbledore was sitting in his office when she arrived, looking over what appeared to be something rather important, and Luna hovered by the doorway briefly, watching Fawkes preen its brilliant red and gold feathers. The office's other occupant, however, quickly noticed her presence and looked up, and Luna drifted inside, leaving the door ajar.

"Ah, Miss Lovegood," he said in a mild tone. "Good day. I presume Mr. Granger told you why I asked to see you."

Luna nodded and conjured a chair with a wave of her wand, seating herself in front of the massive dark-wooded desk.

"I thought you might like to know, first off, that the official story on you two is that you are transfer students, formerly home-taught," Dumbledore informed her. "Professor Dippet may wish to meet with you both personally. I can't say for sure when that might be, but I'd advise you to prepare some things to say in advance — why you came to the school, and so on." When he saw Luna's answering nod, he then shuffled around his desk for a moment before coming up with a sheaf of parchments which he placed in front of him. "Now, normally this sort of thing, late registration and such, would be dealt with by your Head of House. However, given your… special circumstances… I suggested to Horace that he take the day off and let me handle your course selection process." He looked at her, his blue eyes bright and calm, and gave her a small, warm smile.

Luna noted, feeling a rush of affection toward Professor Dumbledore, that it seemed his beautiful, starry aura had never faded between 1943 and the first day she had met him as a twelve-year-old.

Then she blinked. "Would that be Horace Slughorn, Professor?"

He nodded. "The same. I assume you and perhaps Mr. Granger have met him — will meet him at some point in the future?" Then he paused and murmured in a quieter voice, "Or did he happen to fall victim to Lord Voldemort's machinations, during your war?"

"No, he's quite all right," Luna assured him, "at least he was when we left. He's back teaching here, actually. He seemed to be quite enjoying himself, too, until the Death Eaters started infiltrating the school."

Dumbledore paused. "Death Eaters," he repeated, his eyes straying to the side as he considered the implications of the term.

"Yes, Voldemort's followers," said Luna, imagining that she sounded a little calmer than she felt as the avalanche of traumatic memories associated with the phrase briefly threatened to smother her. She found her gaze straying to where Fawkes sat quietly in the corner, watching her with interest. Feeling a little bolstered by the trusting look in its black eyes, she went on, "His great mission… well, his obsession really, was always to be the final victor over death. Just like in the Tale of the Three Brothers, you know, from Beedle the Bard." She waited a moment and took a long, slightly trembling breath, letting the information sink in, before she added, "In the past year or so we discovered he was searching for the Deathly Hallows themselves, actually."

At this Dumbledore's eyes flicked to hers immediately, but he did not seem to focus on her, instead looking as though he was staring through her at some vivid and brightly-coloured memory long past. "Indeed?" he murmured distantly. "How fascinating. I suppose… given what I know of Tom… that this does not surprise me. He was sorted into Slytherin for a more compelling reason than most, it seems."

After a slight pause, the professor blinked and seemed to return to himself, shaking his ginger head. "But I digress. Have you considered yet which courses you plan to take this year? I must tell you, you'll likely be required to take a competency test in order to be placed in some of the more advanced courses, but I imagine you'll have little difficulty in that area, being a former Ravenclaw."

The phrase "former Ravenclaw" rankled a little — she wasn't totally bereft of house pride — but Luna supposed that her house placement had never been all that important to her, at least not after the end of her first year. She'd had one or two friendly acquaintances in Ravenclaw, but as it turned out most of her friends ended up being Gryffindors. Her once-firm loyalty to Ravenclaw had shifted slowly over time to include the school in general, and by the end of it houses had barely mattered anyway… unless you were a Slytherin, of course.

"That sounds fine," affirmed Luna calmly, looking over the course list before her. "I doubt I'll want to be in all the same courses as… him, but it probably wouldn't hurt to have more than a few. Just not so many that it might seem conspicuous." She met Dumbledore's eyes again for a moment and he nodded in agreement.

"Tom," he said, stroking his beard in thought, "is taking… let me see." He checked his own list. "Potions, naturally. Defence Against the Dark Arts… the irony of which does not escape either of us, I'm sure," he remarked dryly under his breath. "Arithmancy, Ancient Runes… Hm! Divination. That's curious." Dumbledore squinted at the parchment briefly. "Although for one as deeply paranoid as he is… I suppose it is unsurprising that he should wish to keep an eye on future events. And — Advanced Transfiguration." A dark brow rose. "I must be honest, I didn't expect him to go on with my classes for longer than he absolutely had to. But he must have his own reasons, I suppose." As he had seemed to be muttering half to himself, Luna was faintly startled when he abruptly looked up at her. "What do you think, Miss Lovegood?" he asked.

She tapped her chin with a finger. "I think… Arithmancy and Divination, definitely… I'm not sure about Defence Against the Dark Arts, as that seems like a bit of a waste, but maybe…" Luna fell silent, pondering. Charms and Defence against the Dark Arts were her strongest subjects, with Care of Magical Creatures at a close second (she was typically more interested in researching magical animals than actually handling them at close quarters, but at Hogwarts it was the best she was able to manage). She'd always been fairly poor with Potions, due to her proclivity for drifting off into inattention for long periods of time and letting her work turn to ruin in front of her; Luna had never been bothered by this, as she found the subject uninteresting and wasn't as concerned about poor marks as some of her housemates, but in this circumstance it was certainly inconvenient. She'd taken one course in Ancient Runes, and hadn't been quite as enthused about it as Hermione had, but it had at times been interesting. As for Transfiguration — well, that one could swing either way, as her spells in that area tended to be a bit hit or miss.

When she opened her mouth again, Luna had made her decision. "All right… yes," she murmured, then took a breath. "Arithmancy, Divination, Defence Against the Dark Arts… Charms, Care of Magical Creatures. And Transfiguration." She skated a few fingers back and forth along the side of her chair as she watched Dumbledore, waiting for his response.

"I'm sure I need not caution you against the potential risks of taking a class I am teaching," the professor commented, his keen eyes meeting hers. "If Tom were to sense any sort of association between the two of us, your chances of success would almost certainly be — if I may use the term — shot." He folded his hands on the desk. "You may trust my ability to keep my own counsel in that regard, but whether you feel you can safely do the same is a question only you can answer."

Luna's lips quirked as she considered this. "That's true." After a moment she shook her head, a tiny smile lighting her face. "I don't think it will be a problem, though. It's not as though I'll have to lie… just avoid saying anything about how we know each other."

Dumbledore nodded, apparently satisfied. "Very well, then. Might I schedule your competency examinations for tomorrow morning, or would you prefer a day or two to prepare?" He took Riddle's schedule and the course list in hand and straightened them before placing them to the side.

"Tomorrow morning sounds all right," Luna confirmed, rising and Vanishing her chair again before smiling cheerfully at Professor Dumbledore. "Thank you so much for your help, Professor. I'm sure all of this would be much more difficult without you."

His answering smile was kind. "It's no trouble, Miss Lovegood," he replied quietly. "but you are very welcome."

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The next day Luna rose slightly earlier, dressed quickly (rose-pink blouse, burgundy trousers, beetle earrings, lucky hare bracelet) and only stopped by the Great Hall to grab an apple before she made her way to the Room of Requirement, where Professor Dumbledore would be waiting. He'd also sent Fawkes to show her the way there, although Luna promptly informed the bird that she knew where she was going and spent the brief trip chatting softly with it about things she thought might interest a phoenix, while the familiar rested silently on her outstretched arm and listened.

Luna was informing Fawkes of the health benefits of applying Flobberworm mucus to the skin around the talons when the familiar, beautifully elaborate door came into view. "Here we are," she interrupted herself serenely, and glanced at her companion, who was now looking at the door — presumably pleased to be back in the presence of its master. As soon as she turned the knob and pulled, Fawkes spread its wings and soared over to where Dumbledore waited next to a long wooden table. On the table rested a variety of magical objects, some of which were unfamiliar to Luna; she assumed the Room of Requirement had, as per usual, provided rather more options for the required task than were strictly necessary. It seemed the Room's eagerness to please had been unchanging through the years. Luna was unable to hide the smile that touched her lips at the thought.

Professor Dumbledore, with Fawkes faithfully at his shoulder, first led her through a series of rather rudimentary magical questions and exercises which then began to steadily advance in difficulty. Unlock this lockbox without the use of an Unlocking Charm. Transfigure the water in this bowl into a garter snake. Now turn it back. Show me the correct method of dispatching a Boggart. Use tea leaves to determine the probability of tomorrow's weather being fair. Now use Rutger's Formula to do the same. Please demonstrate the proper method of handling a shrunken Moke. List the eight magical properties of the number seven. Please produce, to the best of your ability, a fully formed Patronus Charm. Select from the following items which would most effectively calm an agitated Bowtruckle.

The tests went on a long time, stretching out an hour or two longer than Luna had expected. Still, she did her best to concentrate and managed to complete most of the tasks set before her without much difficulty, although on one or two of them near the end she had to admit her lack of knowledge and take a pass.

Finally, Dumbledore replaced the bottle she had just Vanished water from on the table and smiled at her. "I believe that will be sufficient," he said simply. Luna, who had been fiddling with her wand in preparation for the next task, tucked it behind her ear.

"How was I?" she inquired, curious in spite of herself. She typically lacked interest in her own examination results, but she had never been tested by Dumbledore himself before and was hoping that he had not been disappointed.

"You performed quite admirably, actually. Most students of your age have no knowledge of advanced Charms magic such as Patronus charms… and your grasp of offensive magic appears to be very strong, as well." A faint crease appeared between his brows. "I must say, although your experiences — at least in regards to Lord Voldemort's part in them — have clearly been tragic, you have come out of them with an excellent understanding of practical spell application and a near-flawless technique."

Luna's mouth turned up. "Thank you," she said, with a glance at Fawkes, who looked (she thought) equally pleased although a little weary. "Is that all, then? Can I take all my classes?"

Dumbledore nodded. "You met or exceeded the requirements in every category, so yes, I should say so. Take the rest of the day to relax, why don't you? You've done well, Miss Lovegood."

At this last Luna's smile grew infinitesimally, and she felt a small, yellow flower of happiness bloom in her chest. He thinks I did well.

"Oh, and let Mr. Granger know I'd like to see him," added Dumbledore as an afterthought, but Luna was barely listening.

"Thank you, Professor," she said again, and added to Fawkes, "and thank you for the company earlier." With a last bright grin at them both, she turned and left the Room of Requirement, heading for the woods outside.

After she was gone, Albus Dumbledore turned to his familiar and looked searchingly into its eyes for a moment before sighing heavily. "Yes, I know," he said. "I've grown rather fond of her, too."

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A/N: Thanks again for reading! Please leave a comment if you have any thoughts, I'd love to hear from my readers :) Expect the next update in a week or so! xo shai